Black's Knight
by JadeCharmer
Summary: The last battle at Hogwarts never happened and the war has dragged on. The side of the Light is at a standstill with the Trio unable to recover the last Horcrux, the locket, until Hermione comes up with a plan that changes everything.
1. Prologue Protecting the King

**Prologue**

_The king is the most important, but not the most powerful, piece in a game of chess. If you do not protect your king, you will lose the game._

Hermione could feel her breathing become heavy and labored as her magic slowly mixed with the air around her, creating an audible hum that danced across her skin. She resolutely kept her eyes closed, forcing herself to maintain her focus even though she could start to feel her strength leaving her.

Thankful that she had looked over her books numerous times, she started to slowly recite the chant in Latin, her mouth careful to form each of the words clearly and succinctly; there was no room for error, the slightest slip of the tongue could spell disaster.

While repeating the chant, Hermione slowly manipulated her magic, pushing it around the pentagram until all of it was focused directly in front of her, solely placed within the spirit arm. The whispers behind the Veil continued to increase, but now once voice was starting to ring out clearer than the rest. She was soon able to recognize it as a male voice, his tone low and rough as his words became more distinct; not just words, she realized with a start, but pleas, pleas to finally be free.

Hermione continued the chant, the realization that this might actually work helping to counter the exhaustion that was slowly taking over her body. She made sure to keep the pace of her words slow and steady, despite the adrenaline of excitement and anticipation that had started to course through her veins.

The Veil started to flutter even more, almost as if a strong wind had started to whip through the room, making it dance. She could hear the loud ruffling of the fabric rubbing together as it echoed through the room, only broken by the sharp cracks as the fabric was stretched taunt first one way and then another. Hermione was struggling to get the words out now, her tongue feeling sluggish in her mouth as she tried to keep her focus on her magic. She was forced to lock her knees to stay standing, the fatigue weighing on her enough to almost force her bow down.

The voices behind the veil continued to grow more frenzied, sounding almost angry with their indistinguishable grunts and moans. Tiny beads of perspiration were forming on her brow and she knew she was almost at the end of her strength when suddenly there was silence. Unable to restrain her curiosity, Hermione's eyes popped open only to discover a huddled form lying on the floor in front of her.

She had done it.


	2. Chapter 1 A Cold Realization of Value

**Chapter 1**

_The pawns on the chess board are representative of the serfs, or laborers, of medieval times. They were considered little more than property, leading to a life that was difficult and, more often than not, very short._

His cloak hung heavy on his frame as he walked down the sullen and empty stone halls of the ancient house he was now forced to call home, each step of his leather boots, the fabric still showing splatters of blood, echoing and bouncing off the walls.

Before he even made it to the room that had been given to him for the duration of his stay, Regulus ripped the silvery mask off of his face, barely resisting to toss it to the floor where the silver would make it clatter and spin. It was a sign of weakness to lose his temper and his control that easily, a sign that any of the people he now had to endure being constantly surrounded by would have noted and taken advantage of.

As soon as he made it through the aged wooden doorway to his room and had the solid heavy oak door shut behind him, he finally let down his guard, even though he knew it would be only for this brief moment. One of the higher ranking Death Eaters would be coming soon to check on the status of his mission and Regulus would once again have to shelter his thoughts and emotions.

His shoulders that had broadened more in these past few months sagged as he leaned against the door, both from relief of being out of the watchful eyes of others and with weariness for what he was forced to do tonight and what he might be forced to do the next night just to survive. He tossed his mask to the bed covered with rich linens and bulky blankets to ward off the chill of the cool nights before running his hand through the thick locks of ebony hair, closing his grey eyes, eyes that his mother had always criticized for being too much like his brother's, with a heavy sigh.

Behind the lids of his tired eyes, he could still see the faces of the people he was sent to gain information from. By whatever means necessary. His master had issued that particular order with a sadistic sense of glee, as if Voldemort knew that instead of the thrill it used to give him, it now cost Regulus a piece of his soul and irrevocably tainted him a little more each time he was reduced to using 'whatever means necessary.'

Opening his eyes, he looked around his room; though it was comfortable, if Regulus was honest with himself, he had to admit that he bloody well hated it here. He hadn't realized just how far in over his head he had been until he had been forced to move out of the house at Grimmauld Place and had been taken into his cousin's house with her husband. And the Dark Lord. He made the pretense that he had his own house but, more often than not, Regulus would stumble upon him in one of the numerous rooms of Lestrange Manor.

It had been one of the many motivating factors for Regulus to stay within the rooms he had been given for the duration of his stay, along with the fact that he didn't particularly care to interact with his cousin, having found her to be rather changed from the cousin he would play with when they had all been younger.

Even though he tried to push the image out of his mind, the mental picture of his mother's disgust and loathing sprang to his mind as he remembered the events that had brought him to his current situation.

Both of his parents had applauded his decision to become a part of Voldemort's army, although Regulus often wondered if part of their support had been from the fact that he had chosen a direction that was clearly contrary to the one Sirius had chosen. He should have known something was off though, given the fact that, while supporting the ideas Voldemort spread, neither of his parents had actually taken the stop to join the Death Eaters. Unfortunately, he had been too busy in being able to finally bask in the approval of his parents that he didn't particularly care to explore that line of thinking.

A few weeks later, however, he was forced to realize that the approval of his parents was short-lived.

He had been returning from one of the various menial tasks the that Dark Lord had assigned him, under the pretense that he was gaining information but had, in actuality, been just one of the numerous hoops Regulus had been forced to jump through to prove his worth. His mother had met him in the front hall, standing just as tall and proud as Regulus had always seen her, a haughty look of superiority on her face that he had seen directed at others but never at himself, at least not until that moment.

Walburga watched him as he had hung up his cloak and pulled off the silver mask, tucking it into the pocket of the cloak, her watchful eyes studying his every movement so intently that they were practically creating a burning feeling upon his skin. Regulus remembered how he had carefully closed the old oak door to the front hall closet and listened for the sound of the latch clicking in place before he turned to face his mother.

Her eyes, always so veiled in their emotions previously, had been positively glowing with disgust when he turned to face his mother. She had made it a point to look at him in the face, that last time that she had done so, before letting her eyes roam down to his sleeve-covered arm where the telltale mark of his alliance was burned, a sneer covering her lips as she did so.

"Blacks are of noble blood," she had informed him. Her eyes no longer lingered on the covered mark nor were they looking at his face; instead, his mother had chosen to focus her attention on the wall just past his shoulder, a telltale move that informed him he was no longer worthy of her notice.

"So you've informed me since birth," he sneered in retort.

"Is that the way you respond to your _master_?" she taunted, a cruel smirk curling her lips as she continued. "You are no Black. Your brother might have been a blood-traitor but even he had enough pride to know that we don't place the brands of others on our bodies. You're nothing more than a slave now."

Regulus remembered the way that his mother had referred to Sirius in the past tense, as if being dead was a preferable alternative to shunning your family. He briefly wondered if, after today, his mother would refer to him in the same way.

Walburga had then turned away from him and Regulus has seen that as his dismissal, not only from the conversation but also from the house. He had turned back to the hall closet for the cloak that he had hung up mere moments ago and pulled the heavy garment around his shoulders, the pocket with his silver mask hitting hard against his side as he silently wrapped the fabric around him.

He wasn't Sirius; he wasn't as dramatic as his brother had been when he left. There was no shouting, no threats of revenge or finally showing the other who was right, no leaving his room in a permanent state of disgust with the Gryffindor banners and the posters of Muggle women.

There was no storming up stairs by his mother to the family tapestry on the second floor to blast his name off when Regulus had left Grimmauld Place, just silence until he finally let the front door click shut behind him. And, unlike Sirius, Regulus didn't have the consolation of his pride over having left his childhood home of his own accord.

Regulus let out the breath he had been holding in, hitting his head once against the wooden door behind him before finally gaining enough control to push the memories aside. He once again ran his hand through his hair, making the locks a further tumbled mess that reminded him too much of Potter and his arrogance in ruffling his hair back at school. Disgusted at himself over the subtle mental comparison, Regulus immediately patted the locks back down in irritation even as his thoughts shifted once again.

The Dark Lord had been spending more time eyeing the Potters and their friends, trying to find the weak link of their group, because there was always a weak link. He had been forced to endure several _conversations_ not only with the Dark Lord over the issue of Sirius, but also with Bellatrix, all of them focusing on his _failure_ to bring his brother to their side. Never mind the fact that Bellatrix was their cousin, nor that, as far as Sirius was concerned, neither Bellatrix's nor Regulus' opinions carried much weight; it was a responsibility that had apparently been placed solely on him.

He had actually been slightly surprised that Bellatrix hadn't been waiting in the rooms that she had granted him in Lestrange Manor, having taken to waiting for him to return from his tasks so she could either greet the Dark Lord with the information he had garnered or partake in the punishment for his failure; he had been disgusted to realize that both outcomes brought her equal amounts of pleasure and glee.

Regulus moved away from the door, realizing that since Bellatrix wasn't here now, she soon would be; she never passed up the opportunity to gain the advantage over the other Death Eaters. It was a game that he had never particularly cared for, having learnt from observing the others that the consequences far outweighed any possible benefits he could gain. Wizards who were willing to kill people they saw in polite society and interacted with on a daily basis weren't exactly the best people to show your weaknesses to.

He took his traveling cloak off of his shoulders and gave it a quick _Scourgify_ before hanging it up in his wardrobe along with the carelessly discarded mask he had retrieved from his bed, wanting to put the reminders of the night out of sight. Regulus briefly debated showering but decided to wait until after Bella had visited, knowing he would want to wash away the reminder of her visit along with everything else.

Instead, he pulled out one of the few books that he had bought for himself after leaving Grimmauld, all of them cheap and poorly used later edition copies to replace the priceless first and rare editions that still resided in the library and out of his reach. With the book tucked under his arm, he pulled out a crystal tumbler from the side shelf and a bottle of firewhisky, pouring a small amount into the glass. It wasn't an indulgence he allowed himself that often, knowing it wasn't wise to have his senses in any way impaired considering his current surroundings, but at this time, he honestly couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

With his glass and book in hand, he walked over to the comfortable armchair by the window, turning it enough so that the door was in his direct line of sight before he sat down to read and wait for Bellatrix. Sure enough, within fifteen minutes of his sitting down, he could hear her telltale footsteps resounding in the hallway, each authoritative slap of her heel accompanied by a pounding dread inside his chest.

Regulus set the book aside on the small end table next to the chair and picked up the crystal tumbler, taking a fortifying sip. He then let his right arm drop to the armrest, the tumbler lazily dangling from his fingers, as he crossed his right foot over his left knee to hide the fact that his left hand was hanging off the armrest and resting at his side with his wand firmly in grasp.

_She never knocked_, he noted with irritation as the door creaked open for Bellatrix to enter.

Although he couldn't bring himself to be surprised over this lack of courtesy; courtesy was only for those whom you respected or feared and he was neither to her. He didn't rise to greet her, instead merely meeting her look head on with his own expression of bored amusement, an eyebrow quirked in question.

"Did you need something, dear cousin?" he asked idly. He could see the amber liquid swirling inside of crystal tumbler that he was twirling out of the corner of his eye, but his gaze never wavered from Bellatrix's.

She sneered at him before snatching out to grab the tumbler from his hand, slamming it down hard enough down on the sideboard that some of the remaining liquid splashed out. Regulus knew that pushing her so early in their interaction was a calculated risk, but it was one that he hoped would end with her irritation prompting her to leave early rather than curse him.

"Yet another of your foolish weaknesses," Bellatrix said derisively as she walked away from the sideboard and stood in front of him. "One of many. Just like your brother. Using alcohol to bolster a fragile pride and cloud an already indecisive mind."

"And what are my many others?" Regulus asked as he shifted slightly. He was mindful that Bellatrix's watchful eyes were monitoring his every move but he needed to have less pressure on his wand hand so he could act quickly.

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed and Regulus briefly cursed himself, both for having moved and giving away the one advantage he might have had and for deciding to pursue this foolhardy course of action. It seemed that the more his mind wandered to Sirius these days, the more he subconsciously emulated his brother's ill-thought actions.

His stiffened back didn't relax when Bellatrix shook her head and let out a low chuckle before raising her eyes once again to look at him. Regulus somehow managed to hold onto the uncaring expression he had first adapted when she had entered but he knew the muscles in his face were as strained as the ones in his back, a telltale sign of his nerves.

"Were you successful?" she asked as she started to walk around the room. Her fingers dragged along the solid oak surface of his bureau, leaving streaks in their path. He carefully watched her lips to see if she was muttering any incantation, though he was well aware that Bellatrix was talented enough to cast a few spells she considered rather useful both wandlessly and nonverbally.

He waited until her eyes returned to him again, impatience flashing in those green orbs. "They knew nothing," he informed her, his tone a challenge for her to contradict him.

"Perhaps you didn't ask them the right questions," Bellatrix replied, her voice remaining that dangerous silky smooth tone.

"I tortured them, Bella," he told her flatly. "I believe that you're an advocate of the thought that any question is the right question when under torture, are you not?"

Bellatrix merely smirked and raised an eyebrow at him. Even as the words had come out of his mouth, he knew that they had been the wrong thing to say; Bella was an advocate of torture, an advocate of their cause and because of his unwillingness to do whatever it took, he was not.

Ignoring her look, Regulus took a breath before continuing. "I tortured them because we had been told that they had information we considered vital. And after they were nearly broken, I came to find that they had no knowledge that would be useful to us." He could feel the twist of guilt in his stomach over his last few words, the sharp stabbing feeling that he, unfortunately, knew from experience wouldn't disappear with time. Regulus gave a brief glance over at the tumbler of firewhisky on the sideboard, wishing he could take a drink from it and hope the burning sensation would help to wash out some of the disgust.

"Did you now?" Bella replied, giving him a vicious smirk as she stepped closer. "And does that haunt you, cousin? I can see it in the weary lines around your eyes that it does. Are you unable to even do this simple task for your Lord?"

"They are Purebloods."

"They are blood-traitors," she spat. Her face was no longer the calm façade she had plastered on; instead her eyes were narrowed and lived and her lips were curled in disgust. "They are blood-traitors and therefore they are willing sacrifices for the cause. You would do well to remember that."

"Threatening me, _cousin_?" Regulus asked idly, even though he could practically hear the rapid thumping of his heart in his chest. He shifted uneasily once again, tightening his grip on his wand, the warmth of the wood offering him little comfort when facing the coldness of her eyes.

"Of course not," Bella replied, her face calming down once again into her chilly smile. Regulus found he would have preferred to have her anger on the surface as a reminder instead of simmering just below, waiting to strike out at you when you least suspected it.

"Just offering you a way to ease your guilty conscience," she continued. Bellatrix must have seen the wary look of surprise on his face because she smirked at him as she explained. "You're no good to us if you're incapable of performing the tasks that we ask."

"Nice to know I have your confidence," he scoffed. Regulus noted the warning in her words as he stood up from the chair, no longer caring if Bella actually saw the wand held steadfastly to his side. With her open declaration that he was already close to being marked as a turncoat, he decided it was best to remind her that he wasn't one that would go down without a fight.

He walked over to the sideboard where his firewhisky had been placed, taking care to make sure his steps remained calm and even and that Bellatrix was within his gaze at all times. _Only a fool would turn their back to a person like her_, he thought to himself as he grabbed for the crystal tumbler.

Regulus turned his full attention back to his cousin as he took a sip of the amber liquid. Her lips were quirked in a knowing smirk as her eyes deliberately trailed from his face down to his side, looking pointedly at the wand he had held tightly in his hand before she returned her knowing gaze to his eyes.

"As much as I have your confidence, it would seem," she replied sweetly. He noticed how she slipped into a stance that he had seen many times before, a defensive stance that had her hand within close proximity to her wand holster.

He didn't particularly care to get into a duel with the cousin who had been practicing her duelling spells since she could first hold a wand; he especially didn't particularly to engage in a duel with her while they were both in a house that held several other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.

With that thought in mind, Regulus made a show of taking another sip of his whiskey before giving her a wry look. "Isn't that part of being a member of the Ancient House of Black? Have confidence only in yourself and only in others as long as you have the proper manipulation to ensure their loyalty."

He knew that as controlled as Bellatrix was in her expressions, she couldn't help the small smile of amusement at the mention of the motto that had been drilled into both of their heads at a young age. It was one he knew that she had taken to heart while Sirius and he had merely repeated the words back so they could go outside to play.

"Perhaps it is," she replied, walking slowly towards him. "However, it was never one that you could see the merit in. But that's not the only thing you're unable to give merit to, now is it?"

Regulus could feel his eyes narrow as Bella's steps took her closer to him, but he refused to back away from her, instead standing his ground. "I did what was asked of me," he told her, his chin jutting out as he held his head up, his lips curled in a sneer.

Bellatrix seemed to ignore his response as she continued, keeping her tone light and conversational, as if they had been discussing the bloody weather. "Did your hand waver as they begged you? 'Please, no more, please, we don't know anything,'" she mocked in a sing-song voice.

Bellatrix was now standing in front of him and he could see the hint of madness in her eyes that was becoming more and more pronounced as the days went by; or perhaps he was finally detached enough to actually look for it.

"Not only do I know for certain that your wand wavered, I also know that you left them with the capacity to walk away after you were done with them." Bella gave him a light pat of her cold hand on his cheek, letting out a little scoff of disdain before turning away from him. "Thankfully the Dark Lord has others who do not share your downfall. The Mark blazes high over their home tonight, a task I was happy to complete on your behalf."

Regulus could feel his chest tighten and opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it once again, knowing his objections would only help to enhance the joy that Bellatrix was feeling. He was thankful that her back was still turned to him as she walked to the door and had been unable to see his lapse.

Unsure of what to say with his mind still reeling over the knowledge that she must have followed and watched him, Regulus took another sip of his whisky, hoping that would buy him time to come up with an appropriate response.

Bella turned around once she was at the door, her hand reaching behind her to rest on the handle as she faced him. "Because of your supposed _success_ tonight, the Dark Lord has decided to grant you a reward," she informed him before looking him up and down once again with an appraising eye. "Perhaps you might make our family proud of you yet."

Regulus only nodded his head, not caring to offer a verbal response even if he did know what to say, as she turned around and the latch of the door clicked open before Bellatrix walked out. As soon as he saw her disappear through the door, Regulus let out a heavy sigh, his body slumping in on itself. He lifted his wand to set up the wards on his door for the night before pouring himself more firewhisky and moving back to the chair to ponder what the repercussions of this 'reward' might be.

He never saw the cruel smirk of glee that crossed Bella's face as she left the room.


	3. Chapter 2 The Pawn's Move

**Chapter 2**

_There are many more pawns on the board than there are of any other piece and they are often sacrificed to save the more valuable pieces._

The wind whipped off of the sea, carrying drops of water that felt like little ice needles when the cold breeze hit his skin. Regulus pulled his cloak tighter around him, trying to shield his face from the bitter elements but was having little success. He could feel the wet cold soaking through his skin and down to the marrow of his bones, making him shiver until their boat drifted into the cave, finally gaining some shelter from the wind.

Kreacher still shivered underneath Regulus' cloak, so the wizard readjusted the cloth to tuck it under the house-elf, pulling him closer allowing Kreacher to share some of his body heat. He looked back to see the Dark Lord sitting in the rear of the small two person boat, completely unaffected by the weather. If anything, he looked as if he was relishing the howling wind if only for the fact of how uncomfortable it seemed to have made Regulus.

_Some reward, _ Regulus thought bitterly, rubbing his gloved hands together as the boat rocked up and down on the waves. The small amount of light filtering in from the opening of the cave wasn't enough to illuminate the high ceiling, the darkness enveloping the walls as they curved up. He could hear the waves crashing against the sides of the cave and, when he squinted, he could barely make out a shoreline.

Pulling out his wand, Regulus casted a silent illumination spell and waved his wand to send the glowing orb of light ahead of their boat. The yellow-white ball flew over the inky black waves, the light reflecting off the wet walls of the cave until it came to rest at the land that had to be a good hundred metres ahead. Oddly enough, the ball kept bouncing, as if it had hit an invisible wall.

Regulus turned around once again to look at Voldemort to see what he made of that oddity, but the Dark Lord merely smirked knowingly at him and with his stomach sinking even further, Regulus knew that the other man must have been here before.

"Pull up to shore," Voldemort commanded as the boat drew nearer. The magically enchanted oars obeyed his orders and steered the small craft to an inlet, rowing hard enough to push the first part of the wooden nose into the sand.

Regulus and Kreacher crawled out of the bow, their feet sinking into the wet sand as Regulus held the boat steady so the Dark Lord could get out. Once all three of them were ashore, they walked up to where Regulus' illuminated orb still hovered in the air. Now that he was closer, Regulus could clearly make out the faint shimmer of the wards that he assumed the Dark Lord had placed. He leaned in to try to catch a closer glimpse of the runes and, without thinking, lifted his hand to follow along the lines.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, startling Regulus out of his trance as he jerked his hand away from the shimmering wall. He turned as Voldemort lifted his hand off of Regulus' shoulder and saw that the Dark Lord was now pushing back his cloak to reveal a dagger hanging from his waist.

Regulus' eyes widened as he felt his heart skip a beat; he knew when the Dark Lord had told him about his 'reward' that there was a large possibility that the younger man would end up dead by the end of it, he hadn't thought that it would happen before Voldemort rendered some sort of use out of him. He had hoped he would be able to buy enough time to figure out what exactly it was the Dark Lord was going to such extreme lengths to hide, especially since he knew that something so well protected couldn't bode well for anyone else.

Voldemort smirked as he lifted the dagger out of his belt and took a step towards Regulus. He could feel his heart speed up as the hand lifted with the dagger, moving ever closer to him, even as his mind screamed at him to grab his wand, to run, to do something to defend himself. The thoughts all came jumbled, but they served the purpose of finally spurring him into action. Regulus started to reach for his wand when he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and looked down to see that the Dark Lord had tilted the handle so it was offered to the younger man.

"Blood wards," Voldemort informed him. Even though his tone was mocking, Regulus could feel the relief at his words and knew that, once again, he had given away his thoughts to the better player.

With a fair amount of resignation and not daring to ask his master why his blood couldn't be used, Regulus accepted the knife, absentmindedly noting that the silver of the handle and the blade had both been goblin-made, and cut a shallow slit across the palm of his hand, cringing as the sharp edge of the blade drew blood. He took a step closer to the runes, lifting his hand and pressing it against the wall, smearing the blood that had pooled. Without a sound, the wall dissolved in front of his eyes, making his hand fell through.

Voldemort didn't wait for him, instead strolling past Regulus without a second glance. The Dark Lord made a beckoning motion behind him, causing the glowing orb that Regulus had cast to follow the older man further into the cave, slowly leaving Regulus and Kreacher in the shadows.

Pulling out his wand, Regulus quickly cast a "Scourgify" on the knife to clean it of his blood before handing the weapon to Kreacher. "Hang onto this," he ordered as the house-elf took the knife gingerly from his master's hands. "I hope you won't need it, but I'd rather you have it just in case."

Kreacher nodded, tucking the knife away before pulling on his ears, a habit Regulus had noted as a nervous one he'd adapted when he wanted to protest but the bindings placed on him by the Black family prevented him from doing so.

"It'll be alright," Regulus tried to assure him. He could hear the worry in his own tone and knew Kreacher could, too, but neither of them chose to acknowledge it. Leaning down, he patted the small elf that he had known and trusted almost all his life on the back and gave him a nod before standing up to follow the Dark Lord further into the cave.

When he once again took his place beside Lord Voldemort, the glowing orb of light moved ahead of the trio, illuminating what appeared to be a large lake. The Dark Lord quickly sent two other orbs after the original so all three were placed around the lake, lighting up the cave as much as it would be on an overcast day, which helped to light up the middle of the lake, which helped to light up the middle of the lake but left the edges in the shadows. Without having to squint, Regulus could now clearly see that there was a tiny island in the middle of the lake with what appeared to be a podium.

Stepping closer to the edge of the lake, Regulus peered down into the water, wondering how deep it was, but instead of seeing the inky depths, he saw a multitude of faces floating just beneath the surface. He stumbled back from the edge, needing to get away from the haunted faces, and landed hard on his backside. The wizard ignored the cackle of glee from the Dark Lord over having achieved the reaction he wanted. Instead, Regulus rushed to bring his hand up to cover his mouth, hoping that would help hold back the bile that was threatening to come out.

"What-," he choked out in a horrified voice, turning his head around to look back at Voldemort for answers. _What are they? What have you done?_ Regulus couldn't manage to stumble over the words of either question, but knew his intention had been clear.

"Aren't they beautiful?" the other man answered with pride. "Inferi. I've added to them over the years, along with the help of my loyal followers."

Regulus swallowed hard as Voldemort stepped closer to the lake, stopping next to man to look down at him with a hint of disgust before he raised his hand. Regulus turned his attention to the water as he heard a gurgling sound, horrified at what he might see emerge but unable to turn his head away. He watched as two figures emerged from the lake, a man and a woman, and, with a start, realized that their pale, empty faces looked eerily familiar.

They were the couple from a few nights ago, the ones he had been sent to interrogate. The ones that Bellatrix had killed in his name.

Voldemort laughed. "Even you've added your own little contributions, whether you knew it or not," he turned to look down at Regulus and sneered. "Seems that they managed to serve a purpose after all, now didn't they?"

Regulus slowly stumbled to his feet, mindful of Kreacher who was now behind him, his tiny hands on his master's legs to lend his support. "What purpose do they serve?" he asked.

Voldemort lowered his hand, letting the couple sink back into the dark water, but his gaze remained on the young man standing beside him. "They will act as my guardians, protectors of something rather important to our cause," he paused and stared hard at Regulus. "To my cause."

The Dark Lord didn't wait for a response from Regulus, instead he turned his gaze back to the water, his eyes roving over the calm surface as if he was searching for something. _Or someone,_ Regulus amended in his mind, making his stomach churn once again. Finally, with a soft "aha" of discovery, Voldemort once again raised his hand and Regulus could already feel his mounting fear over the face that would be revealed next.

_ Please, not my family,_ he pleaded silently. _ Please, not my brother._

The face that slowly emerged from the water was one of a little boy who couldn't have been older than eight, if even that, and Regulus almost regretted his pleas. He knew that the Dark Lord had a cruel streak but he had been naïve enough to think that Voldemort wouldn't have done this to a child.

His gaze was entirely focused on the small body that was now moving over the water and coming ever closer to them but, out of the corner of his eye, Regulus saw Voldemort turn once again to look at him.  
Upon seeing the horror that Regulus knew was splashed across his face, he saw the corners of the Dark Lord's mouth curve up into a smile, or as much of a smile as he was capable of; it was a poor mimicry of the expression but somehow quite fitting for the dire situation.

Regulus looked to see the boy now standing at the edge of the lake, his body limp and his head hanging off to the side. The clothes the boy had on were Muggle and seemed to be from an older generation, at least from what Regulus could tell given his limited knowledge in that area. He heard a snap of fingers to the side of him and the boy's head stood alert, his empty gaze roving around the cave until he spotted Voldemort and, almost like an eager puppy, trotted over to the Dark Lord.

"My first life," Voldemort said fondly, with what Regulus could almost call affection. "He was one of the children who used to accompany me on trips here." He turned his attention briefly away from the child to look at Regulus. "You never forget that power, that sense of entitlement that rushes through you over having controlled someone else's fate, do you?"

Even as Regulus numbly nodded, not sure of what other response to give, the Dark Lord turned his attention away from the Death Eater and back to the child, reaching out a bony finger to softly stroke the boy's cheek. Regulus was struck by how gentle the movement was, how it was almost as one would do to a child who had brought them joy over an accomplishment.

Which, Regulus then realized, in a way, that child had.

The boy practically cooed under the ministration, but the sound coming out of his mouth was harsh and grotesque, changing the innocence of a child's laugh into something of horror. Regulus can feel Kreacher's tiny body tremble in repulsion beside him and he can't help his own shudder of disgust.

Fortunately, Voldemort's attention soon turned away from the child and back to what Regulus assumed to be the matter that had drug him out here. From within the depths of his cloak, Regulus watched as Voldemort pulled out a bowl, two large vials of liquid, and what appeared to be a locket.

Voldemort held the locket aloft and Regulus held out his hand underneath it, letting the small gold trinket drop into his palm. The locket was immediately smeared with blood from the wound that Regulus had forgotten to heal. The Dark Lord didn't seem to notice, however, as he had busied himself with the bowl and two vials of liquid.

Hoping the vials would keep Voldemort occupied for at least a little while longer, Regulus wiped his hand, along with the locket, on the side of his dark coloured robes in an attempt to remove the blood. Under normal circumstances, he would have used his wand to make sure the locket had been thoroughly cleaned, but he didn't want to draw the unnecessary attention of the Dark Lord and have to face his questions.

Once he felt that he had wiped enough and with the blood hopefully removed, Regulus placed the locket in his other hand and returned his focus to the Dark Lord, who had by now handed the bowl to Kreacher. He watched intently as the Dark Lord's bony fingers uncorked one of the vials and poured the cloudy liquid into the crystal bowl while whispering an enchantment, his voice too low for the younger wizard to be able to catch the words. Voldemort then turned his attention to Regulus.

"Place the locket in the liquid," he ordered. Regulus hesitated, thinking about the blood that was most likely still in the little nooks and crannies of the locket and how that might interact with the potion that the Dark Lord had placed into the bowl. But one glance at the demanding look on Voldemort's face had Regulus putting aside his reservations as he gingerly held it above the bowl by its chain and slowly dropped it into the liquid. Watching intently and holding his breath in anticipation, Regulus finally let out a sigh of as the potion remained unchanged after the locket had been fully placed into the bowl.

Voldemort added a few more enchantments to the bowl before dismissing Kreacher to the small boat waiting in the lake, one that Regulus hadn't previously noticed. As soon as the small elf carefully climbed in and was seated, the boat started to row itself across the lake, heading for the small island in the middle. Regulus watched Kreacher get further and further away, leaving him with the child, Voldemort, and his continually growing feeling of dread.

"I was unaware of all the possibilities of magic the first time I killed," Voldemort said idly.

His words drew Regulus' attention away from the small wooden boat in the water and, turning to look at the Dark Lord, he found the other man already watching him, staring intently. Regulus resisted the urge to shift his weight, to avert his eyes anywhere but directly in front of him, his pride forcing him to keep his position.

"I only knew that I could force things to happen, should I want them badly enough. I hid him here with the need for him to stay preserved," Voldemort continued, his hand now on top of the boy's head. The child keened under the attention and Regulus could feel his stomach flipping in revulsion once again. "I wanted him as a reminder of what control could bring me; that, with enough presence of mind, it can bring you all the power you desire."

Regulus saw Voldemort idly playing with the stopper on the other vial and couldn't help but try to come up with ideas as to what exactly the potion had been and why only one of the vials had been poured into the bowl. He couldn't help but wonder if this was the moment that Voldemort had decided his usefulness was finally over; if, perhaps, his next purpose would be to serve as one of the haunted guardians for some seemingly useless trinket.

The child caught sight of the vial in Voldemort's hand and reached out both of his hands greedily, making low moaning noises as he begged for the new toy. Smirking, Voldemort pulled out the stopper and gave the vial full of liquid to the child. Before Regulus could warn him, even though he didn't know what good it would do, the child had already greedily gulped down the potion.

Regulus watched in horror as a wail of pain ripped out of the little boy's throat and the child trembled before falling to the ground, thrashing around violently. He managed to tear his eyes away from the horror long enough to look up at Voldemort and see the clinical note of study on his face, as if this whole thing had been a bloody experiment.

"I didn't have the power to make him into a loyal, if albeit mindless, follower until years later," Voldemort informed Regulus even as he watched the child flail. "He's proven to be an interesting study."

Even though the child was still screaming, wails of pain and horror that made Regulus plug his ears with one hand even as he uselessly held his wand, silently casting spell after spell to try and provide some relief, he could still hear Voldemort's low words over everything.

"You can keep casting your worthless little spells," the Dark Lord cackled. "But the probability of you knowing the correct cure is practically impossible. But keep going, it does amuse me how hard you try for someone whose fate has already been sealed."

Regulus couldn't help the snarl of his lips, even as he kept his wand raised to cast another spell, but looking down at the boy, he found he was too late; the child's eyes were closed and his mouth was sagged. It seemed that even before his very own eyes, the child had already started to waste away from the already depleted form that he had been.

"But he was already dead!" Regulus protested, his voice a mix of awe and terror.

"Yes," the Dark Lord said simply, his voice smug with knowledge.

Regulus could feel the urge to hex the man standing in front of him, a look of superiority on his face, but he knew that if he had any chance of making it out of here alive, he needed to keep his temper. He needed to keep his temper and he needed to find out what meaning the locket held. Briefly looking out across the lake, he could barely see Kreacher standing on the island next to the podium with the bowl already placed on top. Returning his focus to Voldemort, he refused to look down at the child who lay at his feet for fear that he would lose leave of his senses.

"How?" he demanded, even though he knew there was little chance the Dark Lord would actually grant him an answer.

Voldemort scoffed. "It's disgusting to see how little you and so many others know about magic. Enough magic was forced into his body to keep it from deteriorating and to keep his motor functions and minimal mental functions," he informed Regulus, a sneer prominent on his expression. "With that, there is enough magic to anchor at least part of his soul earthbound. And that is enough to be killed again; to die yet another physical death."

Regulus took several stumbling steps back from the pair, horror written across his face as he once again fought against his gag reflex. He felt the urge to scratch at the skin of his arm that had been burned by this man's mark until it bled raw, wanting any reminder of him banished even though Regulus knew that wouldn't help him forget the horrors he had seen today. He could only assume that Voldemort had shown him these atrocities with the idea of terrifying him into submission, but, instead, it had only hardened Regulus' resolve and determination to find a way to bring down the Dark Lord.

Unfortunately, he wouldn't get the chance to enact any of his plans.

Regulus had turned to tell Kreacher to come back when he heard the rustle of Voldemort's robes, the soft rubbing of fabric on fabric echoed and magnified in the walls of the cave. He turned around to see the Dark Lord with his wand pointed at Regulus, a smirk of satisfaction on his face.

"Go, Kreacher!" Regulus shouted to the house-elf even as he withdrew his wand to shoot off a curse in Voldemort's direction. He could hear the loyal elf mumble and protest over the cackles and taunts of the Dark Lord but Regulus knew that his time was limited to get the elf out of there. Regulus also knew that his fate had been sealed the moment he had stepped into that boat; there was no way he would have gotten out of here alive. "As your master, I order you to leave!"

His heart clenched in relief as he heard the distinct pop of Apparation but when he turned back to face Voldemort and finally unleash all the fury he had felt towards the man, all he could see was a stream of green heading straight for his chest. And then there was nothing; nothing but the feeling of warm magic seeping its way into his veins.


	4. Chapter 3 Precarious Positions

**Chapter 3**

_The queen is the most powerful piece in the game and the only piece on a chess board to represent a woman. Many do not realize that in medieval times, the queen often held a powerful, yet highly precarious, position by advising the king and playing games of intrigue at court._

Hermione barely resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands as Ron let out another heavy sigh, stirring up the dust that remained on the old tomes within the Black family library. One hard glare at Ron had him sheepishly apologizing but Hermione could only shake her head in response, knowing that within ten minutes it would happen again. The silence once again took over the library, only broken by the crisp sound of pages that hadn't been touched in years finally being turned and the soft scratch of quill tips moving across parchment.

Unfortunately, the silence didn't last for long.

Hermione's attention was soon drawn from her book once again by the sound of Ron letting out an irritated huff before tossing his quill down on the table in front of him and leaning back in the chair, his arms folded across his chest.

"I feel like I don't even know what we're looking for anymore, we've been looking in these bloody tomes for so long," he groused.

"We're trying to find a way past the blood wards that Voldemort-" Hermione paused and mentally rolled her eyes as Ron sent her a glare for using the wizard's name. "That _Voldemort_ placed on the cave, the cave which we _think_ holds the last Horcrux."

"How do we even know for sure that's what he put in there?" Ron challenged, leaning forward on the table. "For all we know, we could break down the wards and find an army of raving lunatics waiting with their hatchets at the ready to mutilate us."

Hermione shot a pointed look at Harry that clearly told him it was his turn to go another round in the same argument they'd been having for weeks. Harry let out a sigh and put down his quill. He reached up to take off his glasses with one hand and rubbed his eyes that had become weary from reading for hours on end. Hermione couldn't help her small smile of amusement as she noticed the indentations on his nose from where the glasses has rested before Harry replaced the glasses and turned his attention to Ron.

"First, because of the research Professor Dumbledore did. He found out that the orphanage Riddle lived at went there at least once every summer, not to mention the amount of highly complex wards Professor Dumbledore found guarding the cave when he went to investigate," Harry reminded Ron.

"So? I went to the pond down by the back of the Burrow every summer, doesn't mean I have a piece of my soul lying around there," Ron scoffed, obviously intent on playing devil's advocate.

Hermione brought up her hands to rub at her temples, hoping that would help to head off her impending headache. She loved Ron, she really did, but his stubbornness was part of the reason why they would never work as a couple; she was stubborn enough on her own and when the two came together, they seemed to conflict on every subject, neither willing to back down until the other person's feelings had been thoroughly tromped and painfully hurt.

Thankfully, Harry seemed to have grown enough patience over the years to make up for the two of them.

"Yeah," Harry agreed before smiling at Ron with a hint of humor. "But I also don't see you as being crazy enough to split up your soul into seven different pieces."

"Too true on that," Ron agreed before sighing. "Alright, so are we certain that the ward we can't get past is a blood one?"

"Do you remember the rune I showed you when we were at the cave?" Hermione asked even as she reached for a book that she had sitting on the far edge of the table. Ron nodded as she thumbed through the text, looking for the bookmark she had placed. She uttered a small "aha" when she finally found the page and leaned to her side to spread the book open in front of Ron, pointing her finger at the rune in the top left corner. "This is the symbol that indicates a blood ward. It's usually accompanied by several other runes to detail the complexity and strength of the ward, along with the special steps a person would have to take to dismantle them."

"And the special step we need is the blood of a member of the Black family," Ron said, his tone mimicking the words that had just been repeated the day before. And the day before that. Ad nauseum.

"Which put us in a bit of a dire straights situation," Harry remarked, running his hand through his hair.

"Yes, with Sirius' disappearance into the veil, Andromeda killed during our 7th year before we even _knew_ about the whole blood restriction with the wards on the cave, and Narcissa Malfoy still on the run with Draco and Merlin knows where they might be hiding," Hermione summarized.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "You forgot Bellatrix Lestrange, who I'm sure would absolutely love to be of help to us."

Hermione couldn't help the small snort of laughter that came out over Ron's words. "I'm sure," she agreed. "And I'll even be kind enough to let you be the volunteer to ask her, should the chance arise."

"Lucky me," Ron replied sarcastically, earning a soft cuff on the shoulder from Hermione. He shot her a dirty look, but his small smile let her know that he didn't mean it before he continued. "And we tried Tonks, after having to satisfy her curiosity with a rather ridiculous story that I'm pretty sure she didn't even buy but got tired of trying to ask us the real reason."

"Right," Hermione added absentmindedly. Ron and Harry both turned to look at her with curious expressions but she didn't notice; instead her gaze was unfocused while she nibbled on her lower lip, deep in thought as she tried to puzzle through something.

"What is it, Hermione?" Harry prompted, the use of her name pulling her out of her thoughts. She blinked and looked from Harry to Ron, seeing the expectant looks on both of their faces and knew she would have to share her theory, as outlandish as it might seem.

"Well," she started. "I was trying to come up with a reason as to why Tonks' blood wouldn't work. I mean, we're positive that we need the blood of a Black; we've checked the wards several times, copied them down, and searched through every available Arithmancy text we can get out hands on." Harry and Ron both nodded when she paused to take a breath, encouraging her to continue. "And they all say the same thing."

"Right," Harry confirmed before pulling Hermione's thoughts back on track. "So why didn't Tonks' blood work?"

"I think it might be because of her DNA," Hermione told them. She could see Harry hesitantly nodding, even though she was sure he didn't know quite what she had meant, but Ron didn't even attempt to play along.

"Huh?" he blurted out ineloquently, his head turning from Hermione to Harry and back again. He slumped back in his chair, a thoroughly confused expression on his face. "You're going to have to explain that one to me."

"DNA is, well, I suppose it's a Muggle term for instructions given to your body on how to develop and form based on genetics," Hermione explained, trying to keep it as simple as possible. She could see Ron start to object again so she put up her hand to hold him off as she explained further. "It's like your red hair; almost everyone in the Weasley family has red hair. That's because of the genetics in your DNA. Most likely your children will also have red hair, well," Hermione paused and chewed on her lower lip again. "I suppose I shouldn't say most likely; it depends on who you end up having children with and their own genetics, what recessive and dominant traits they carry and-"

"Hermione!" Ron complained. "Do I really need to know all that? Can't we just stick with the basics?"

"Right, sorry," she apologized, her face flushing slightly in embarrassment over having gotten carried away. "Anyway, the point is that I think with Tonks being a Metamorphmagus, her DNA is constantly in flux. In a state of change," she amended, seeing the pointed look on Ron's face.

"So her DNA isn't really the DNA that the rest of the Black family would have?" Harry slowly surmised.

"Right," Hermione confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. "It will carry the some of the same qualities as the blood of the other Blacks but I think it might not be enough to be recognized. And it probably didn't help that her hair was pink at the time when we drew her blood to place on the wards," she mused. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it of any further derailing thoughts before shrugging. "The point is that no matter the amount of research we do, if we end up needing blood to take down the wards, it's going to have to be from a different Black than Tonks."

"Great," Ron let out a frustrated breath of air. "So we've hit another dead end."

Harry sighed in agreement and brought up his hand to rub at the back of his neck where Hermione was sure he had a knot of tension building up. She knew that she had one in the base of her own skull that seemed to have taken up permanent residence.

"I really wish Professor Dumbledore and I would have managed to make it to the cave that night before Malfoy had to go do the fool thing and let in the Death Eaters," Harry lamented. "I mean, I know the chances aren't all that great that he would have known a way around the wards, but I feel like if anyone would have known a way to bypass them off the top of his head, Dumbledore would have."

Ron and Hermione both nodded in agreement but didn't add anything. Hermione picked up the quill Ron had discarded and noticed that the tip was now bent and almost broken, rendering it unusable. With a small sigh, she opened the case in which she kept her quills and ink and pulled out another one for him to use, silently cursing the fact that quills had been charmed to withstand repairing charms. _It was smart on the behalf of the distributors, but it certainly made a nuisance,_ she mused to herself as she set the extra quill down in front of Ron, earning a small smile of appreciation.

"Just think of how many things might have changed," Harry continued, once again drawing their attention with the bitterness tainting his voice. "Dumbledore might have known a way around the wards; we could have gotten the last Horcrux that night and destroyed it. And maybe Dumbledore wouldn't have been killed in the Astronomy Tower battle by Snape. Maybe the war wouldn't still be going on now, four years after the fact."

He shrugged, a movement that he tried to pull off nonchalantly to dismiss his thoughts ,but Hermione could see the jerky movement of his shoulders, even if she didn't say anything about it. Harry looked at both of them before sighing and once again picking up the quill he had set on the table to go back to work.

"So what are we going to do about the blood?" Ron asked quietly.

Hermione let out a sigh and leaned back against the wooden bars of her chair, rolling her head around to try and release some of the tension. The sunlight was filtering in through the large windows of the library and she once again mentally thanked Molly Weasley for insisting on removing the heavy old velvet drapes, despite the protests she had encountered from Kreacher. It certainly made the room lighter and much more comfortable; it was almost like the library Hermione had pictured having since she had been little.

She had spent more time than she cared to admit in the pair of large wingback leather chairs in front of the fireplace, her feet propped up comfortably on the ottoman as she lost away an afternoon to reading instead of worrying about the Wizarding world.

Taking a deep breath, her nose filling with the comforting scent of parchment and old leather, Hermione turned back to Ron and Harry. "There might be a way," she said hesitantly. "But I'm not even sure it'll work and I honestly can't even say that the results are all that likely to be one that we would find favourable-"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted warily. "Just tell us."

Biting her lower lip, Hermione looked from Harry's probing green eyes to Ron's expectant blue ones and let out a heavy breath. "I don't think we have much of a chance of this being successful," she repeated, needing to make sure the warning had been firmly drilled into their minds before she continued, "but, I think our only option right now is to try and bring Sirius back from the Veil."


	5. Chapter 4 The Power of the Queen

**Chapter 4 **

_The scheming of queens working either for or against their kings are well noted throughout the history of the medieval times and, more often than not, she held more power than the king._

Her idea of bringing Sirius back from the veil hadn't exactly gone over well at first; there were the objections that it couldn't be done, then the objections that if it could be done, why hadn't they already done it instead of letting him float in nothingness for five years. Hermione had tried to explain, numerous times over, that the chances of actually bringing back _Sirius_ and not some twisted version of him weren't very likely. And that was on top of the hope that Bellatrix's killing curse hadn't hit him before he fell through.

Harry had immediately dismissed the idea and gotten up from his chair, storming out of the library. Ron had sent her an apologetic look, but told her that he could see Harry's point; if Sirius was finally at peace, it was best if they just let him be. They could find another way.

Hermione had berated herself, second-guessing the way she had approached the subject, trying to figure out if there had been a better way to bring the idea to Harry but, deep down, she knew that Sirius would always be a sensitive subject for him and the idea that they had let him rot behind the veil when they could have done something wasn't a thought that he could handle. She felt horrible now for even putting the idea in his mind because she knew it would add to the guilt that he still carried with him.

The problem was that ,even if Harry and Ron refused to acknowledge it, there _wasn't_ another way. Hermione had already been through all the possible research, scouring the Black library for any source. She had even gone so far as to venture into the books that Mrs. Weasley had put into another room when they had been students, informing them that the Dark texts were off-limits.

Hermione had been sure the only reason Molly hadn't tossed them out was because she wasn't quite sure what enchantments the books had on them to prevent them from being destroyed. And she couldn't exactly turn them over to the Auror department without facing a multitude of questions regarding how she had obtained them.

But even the Dark texts hadn't held any answers to their dilemma and after more than a year of research, a year spent having to watch their friends die at the hands of the Death Eaters, Hermione returned to a passage that she had bypassed the first time she came across it a few months ago, having read a few lines into it before promptly classifying the idea as one of her last resort options.

After Sirius had disappeared into the Veil and Harry had been adamant that they could bring him back and restore him to the land of the living, Dumbledore had gently taken the then young boy aside to explain to him that falling into the Veil had meant death for Sirius- there was no coming back. But Hermione had long since realized that after Dumbledore's encounter with Grindewald, and the realizations concerning his own weakness with power, the older wizard had drawn a staunch line concerning magic, restricting himself to one single branch; a branch that was rather limited in its thinking.

In the forbidden book room, Hermione had found references to old, arcane magic that focused less on a wand and more on using your magic from within, letting it combine with the elements around you to bring about your desired result rather than forcing a manipulation. She had found several parts of a ritual, bits and pieces of it scattered through a few different books that spoke of a pathway between life and death. Working diligently, Hermione managed to piece together her research, checking and rechecking, all the while debating to herself if she had gone too far, if she was pushing not only the realm of magic, but also her morals into an area that shouldn't be touched.

She had tabled her research for almost a month, placing all her notes within the old dusty tomes and hiding them on a back shelf. Hermione didn't really need to even take these simple precautions, let alone ones of a more drastic measure, as she was the only one who had ventured into the room since Mrs. Weasley had locked it all those years ago. But even though the visible signs of the research were out of sight, they stayed on her mind, niggling at her each time Harry, Ron, and Hermione had hit another dead end, another hurdle to jump.

The discussion with Harry had been the final proverbial nail in the coffin; Hermione knew that she could no longer put off the decision that she had already subconsciously made months ago. This was her one opportunity and, no matter how unlikely it was to work, she knew she had to give it her best try.

With that thought in mind, she waited one night a few days after their discussion in the library until Harry and Ron were asleep before gathering up the few texts she would need from Molly's forbidden book room and a few other things she would need for her ritual. With an optimistic note, she grabbed a spare robe on her way out, tucking it into her satchel as she headed out into the foggy night.

*

When she arrived at the phone booth, she couldn't help but shake her head that, even though they were in the middle of a war, the Ministry had done little to improve their security protocols. _Although,_ she mentally amended ruefully, _she supposed they probably already had numerous charms in place, none of which had managed to keep out a group of 5th years those few short years ago._

She input the sequence of numbers and followed the prompts of the operator, who let Hermione keep her wand because of the freelance work she did for the Ministry. With her pass firmly in hand, she was eventually admitted access and headed straight for the Department of Mysteries.

As she walked down the plain corridor, she couldn't help but shiver as she remembered the last time she had been here. Without a thought, her hand came up to her chest to trace the line that Dolohov's curse had left upon her that night. _One of the many scars incurred,_ she thought with a hint of bitterness. _Most of them mental rather than physical._

When she reached the end of the hallway, Hermione turned the knob to the black door of the Entrance Chamber and stepped inside the circular room. Even though it was only her second time in this room, Hermione believed it would never cease to amaze her how the highly polished floor managed to look like standing water. Looking around the room, she was greeted with twelve separate doors, all of them without handles. She remembered their frustration of how, after they exited a room and were once again back inside the Entrance Chamber, the doors would spin around so it was impossible to tell which was which.

Fortunately, this time she had come more prepared than she had in her 5th year of school. She knew that there had to be a method for discerning which door led to which room otherwise the Unspeakables, no matter how tolerant of a wizard or witch they might be, would eventually quit out of frustration. With a bit of reading, Hermione had discovered that upon first walking into the Entrance Chamber, the door leading to the Death Chamber would always be three down to the left of the door she had just entered.

Using the same charm she had back in her 5th year, Hermione turned around to place a bright red 'X' on the door that she had just entered before turning to the left of the door and counting off three. Just in case her research was wrong, she placed a red 'X' outside of this door also, this time with a small line underneath, before whispering _"Alohamora"_, watching as the door slowly creaked open.

When she stepped into the Death Chamber, it was exactly as she had remembered; a dimly lit, large square room that immediately filled you with an ominous feeling. Her eyes quickly refocused, adjusting to the smaller amount of light in this room compared to the one she had just been in, and Hermione could now see the stone tiers leading down into a pit in the center of the room. In the pit was a dais which held an old stone archway, the tattered black curtain of the Veil hanging from it.

Swallowing down hard, Hermione took her first ginger steps into the room, the click of her low heeled shoes bouncing and echoing off the walls. As she walked down each stone tier, moving ever closer to the Veil, she thought she could hear faint whispers. Furrowing her brow, Hermione paused in her movement, cocking her head in the direction of the Veil to listen intently. Sure enough, she could hear what had to be several hundred soft whispers at once, each talking over the other so none of the words were discernable; it was almost like a light breeze whispering through a copse of trees, especially with the way it raised the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck.

She knew for certain that she hadn't remembered the voices coming from the archway the first and only other time she had been here. Hermione was about to worry when her memory finally kicked in, reminding her of the snippets of conversation she had overheard between Luna and Harry. Both of them had heard the voices from the Veil the first time they had been there and later, when they had a chance to discuss it without curses being lobbed at them, they had both decided that it was a similar case to being able to see Threstals; one had to have seen death first hand in order for them to be able to hear voices from the Veil.

A requirement that Hermione regrettably now fulfilled, having seen more than her fair share of friends fall from the curses of Death Eaters.

The voices served as a subtle reminder of why she was here and, readjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, Hermione pushed her chin forward in determination as she continued down the stone tiers. The whispers grew louder as she walked up the three short steps of the dais before coming to a stop in front of the Veil. A feeling of dread washed over her as she watched the curtain waver back and forth, blowing in a non-existent breeze. Quickly she pushed that feeling aside, not willing to let fear overtake her emotions.

Hermione set her bag down on the dais and opened it, pulling out a large, clear bottle of water. According to one of her reference texts, it was best to cleanse the altar of any previous impurities so as not to taint the ritual with outside influences. There had been a spell following that had been required to cast on the water, rendering it 'clean.' With the bottle in hand, she started at the back of her makeshift altar and walked around clockwise, sprinkling the pure water as she went until she made the complete circuit.

"Please Goddess," she recited softly as she dropped the water onto the altar. She had looked at the words so often that she was practically able to see them dancing in front of her. "May you let this circle of cleansed water act as a barrier that no evil presence or thought can break through."

With the first part of the ritual complete, Hermione replaced the water in her bag and pulled out the three texts she had brought with her, opening each of them to the bookmarked page and setting them in a semi-circle so she could easily pull the information from each one. She noticed a distinct change in the air of her now cleansed circle as she did so, almost like a protective warm feeling that helped to calm the nerves that had started to build up inside her.

Next, Hermione pulled out a knife she had found at Grimmauld, one that had a fine silver handle with a sharp blade that would serve her purposes nicely. She had made sure to thoroughly clean it with all the charms she could think of, not particularly wanting to dwell on what the knife could have possibly been used for in the years before the Order had taken up residence in the old house.

She set the knife to the left of the books before turning back to her bag to grab a bowl before lifting the bag up to set it far off to the side before returning to her predetermined spot behind the semi-circle of books. Leaning down, she set down the bowl before once again picking up the knife and, with a slight hint of hesitation, quickly slashing the blade across her palm, cringing as she did so. Blood quickly pooled in her hand and Hermione kneeled down to grab the bowl, balancing it in her grasp while still gripping the knife, holding it under her hand to catch any spare blood droplets.

With one more quick reference to her book, even though she had the next part of the ritual memorized, Hermione moved to the right of her alter, kneeling down to draw the first arm of her pentagram, an offering to water. Setting the bowl down on the stone floor, she squeezed her cut palm into a tight fist over it, before dipping her finger into the blood. She continued this ritual, again moving clockwise, offering silent pleads to fire, earth, air, and, finally, spirit.

Careful to step over the completed drawing on the floor, Hermione moved over to her discarded bag to set the bowl and knife down next to it. She reached into her bag with her clean hand and pulled out makeshift bandage dressings and wrappings to take care of the cut on her hand, not wanting to use magic to upset the already delicate balance.

Once she had her wound tightly covered, Hermione tossed the leftover bandages into her bag, and, making sure to carefully stepping over the blood on the floor, the now familiar warm feeling of comfort washed over her again as she retook her place in the middle of the pentagram, her books spread out before her.

"Dear Goddess," Hermione started, making sure to keep her voice low and solemn. She had never understood the dramatics of using a loud, booming voice when performing a ritual; the Gods and Goddesses demanded respect and yelling at them certainly wasn't the way to garner it. "I ask for your blessings as I perform this difficult task of creating a pathway through the Veil of Life and Death."

Hermione paused, closing her eyes, knowing that for this next part she would need to focus inward. Part of the reason why ritual magic had fallen out of practice so quickly was the fact that one had to not only have the strength of mind to continue with the ritual once it had started, but they also had to be pure in their intentions for the ritual. She was already treading close to a grey area but hoped the Goddess would be able to discern and understand Hermione's reasoning.

"I request your aid in helping me to guide a member of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black back to this side of the Veil, a man who was taken before his task was complete," Hermione requested, focusing on reaching out her magic to the five corners of the pentagram, trying to keep the push of magic into each corner equal for this part of the ritual. She could hear the whispers behind the Veil slowly become frenzied, more voices adding their rasp to the soft trickle as she continued. "Please use your guidance in accordance with the fates to bring forward the one whom I seek."

Hermione could feel her breathing become heavy and laboured as her magic slowly mixed with the air around her, creating an audible hum that danced across her skin. She resolutely kept her eyes closed, forcing herself to maintain her focus even though she could start to feel her strength starting to leave her.

Thankful that she had looked over her books numerous times, she started to slowly recite the chant in Latin, her mouth careful to form each of the words clearly and succinctly; there was no room for error, the slightest slip of the tongue could spell disaster.

While repeating the chant, Hermione slowly manipulated her magic, pushing it around the pentagram until all of it was focused directly in front of her, solely placed within the spirit arm. The whispers behind the Veil continued to increase but now once voice was ringing out clearer than the rest. She was soon able to recognize it as a male voice, his tone low and rough as his words became more distinct; not just words, she realized with a start, but pleas, pleas to finally be free.

Hermione continued the chant, the realization that this might actually work helping to counter the exhaustion that was slowly taking over her body. She made sure to keep the pace of her words slow and steady, despite the adrenaline of excitement and anticipation that had started to course through her veins.

The Veil started to flutter even more, almost as if a strong wind had started to whip through the room, making it dance. She could hear the loud ruffling of the fabric rubbing together as it echoed through the room, only broken by the sharp cracks as the fabric was stretched taunt first one way and then another. Hermione was struggling to get the words out now, her tongue feeling sluggish in her mouth as she tried to keep her focus on her magic. She was forced to lock her knees to stay standing, the fatigue weighing on her enough to almost force her bow down.

The voices behind the veil continued to grow more frenzied, sounding almost angry with their indistinguishable grunts and moans. Tiny beads of perspiration were forming on her brow and she knew she was almost at the end of her strength when suddenly there was silence. Unable to restrain her curiosity, Hermione's eyes popped open only to discover a huddled form lying on the floor in front of her.

She knew it was too soon to feel the relief that was coursing through her body but she couldn't help but rejoice. It seemed that, despite the great odds and doubts that she forced herself to not acknowledge, she might have succeeded.

Ceasing her chant, Hermione made sure to offer thanks to the Goddess and bowed to each corner of the pentagram before she ignored the numerous precautions in the book to stay inside the circle. Her body ached as she stepped over the now dried blood on the floor, every muscle screaming at her in pain and threatening to shut down at any moment.

Fortunately, her pride and curiosity combined to help her push aside the thoughts of pain and weariness as she slowly hobbled towards the huddled form. As she grew closer, her anticipation kept building as she realized that the person on the floor in front of the Veil was breathing. Granted, they were slow, shallow breaths but it was more than she had allowed herself to hope for.

The body shifted in front of her, the robes falling down enough to reveal long black locks that were cleaner than the last time she had seen them. No longer able to contain her excitement, Hermione hurried as fast as her weak legs could support her over to the huddled form, throwing her arms around the person.

The man let out a groan of pain as soon as her arms squeezed around him and Hermione loosened her grip, not wanting to hurt Sirius. She couldn't imagine being pulled through the Veil had been the most comfortable process on his body and it wouldn't do for her to exacerbate any injuries he might have incurred.

Leaning back on her heels and then finding that was too much for her screaming muscles to handle, Hermione sat on the floor, her legs sprawled out wearily to the side. She lifted her arm once more, this time with more hesitation than she had previously shown, and laid it gently on the man's shoulder. Sirius' face was still turned away from hers, but she didn't want to force him to roll over and she didn't want to walk around him, not wanting to get any closer to the Veil than she had to.

"Sirius?" she asked softly, her hand rubbing gently against his shoulder. "Sirius, can you hear me?"

The man let out another low groan, but at least this time it didn't sound nearly as pain-riddled as the last one, and started to roll over so his face was looking up at Hermione, his grey eyes trying to focus on her face.

The man wasn't Sirius.


	6. Chapter 5 Refuge

**Chapter 5**

_The rook, sometimes called the castle piece, symbolizes the home or refuge for the other pieces._

Ron and Hermione watched from their respective wingback chairs as Harry continued to pace the wooden floor of the library, his steps hitting hard and heavy as his hand ruffled through his hair for the fifth time in the past few minutes. He muttered indiscernibly to himself, a stray word sometimes emphasized by a tug on an unruly lock of hair but, other than that, he said nothing.

Ron looked increasingly worried, glancing back and forth between the bespectacled wizard and the curly haired witch to his right but Hermione merely shrugged when she caught his eye. She wasn't particularly worried; as they had grown older and out of their Hogwarts years, Harry had learned the advantages of gathering the information that had been presented to him and thinking it over before speaking, at least in certain situations.

_Although,_ Hermione thought, pausing in massaging the tired muscles in her legs, _he usually would have spoken by now._

Not that she was going to pass up the opportunity to use this, well, this lull before the storm to gather up her own strength for the upcoming _discussion._ She had been surprised the night before at how much her magical energy had waned from the ritual, although if she would have thought it through, she honestly should have prepared herself for it; Hermione had never exactly used her magic in that way before so it was a bit like stretching a muscle you had never previously used and then put through rigorous exertion, making it stiff and clunky afterwards.

She'd had a bloody mess of a time the night before getting the man out of the Ministry and back to the house on Grimmauld Place. To be honest, she was still a little disbelieving that the whole thing had actually worked. While she knew almost for certain that her research had been flawless, she also knew that with ritual magic, it was easy to make a mistake and end up with a completely different result than the one you were looking for. She could have easily run out of the energy to continue powering the ritual, almost had, actually, and who knows what she would have ended up with then.

The man had only looked at her briefly before closing his eyes once again, falling back into his heavy sleep and thus rendering him pretty much useless. Hermione could feel that she didn't have much time or energy before she would be rendered as useless as the man in front of her; silently she cursed herself for not having the foresight to have put a pepper-up potion in her bag.

Dragging herself back over to her books, she gathered them up as fast as she could before using a _"Scourgify"_ to remove the blood, her blood, from the floor. She glanced over to the far wall where she had her backpack and supplies sitting, cursing herself once again for having set them so far away.

With a heavy sigh, she once again stumbled to her feet and made her way slowly over to the wall, leaning it against it to slide down to the ground. She once again used a _"Scourgify"_ to clean both the bowl and the knife before placing them in her bag alongside her books and placing a Feather Light Charm on the bag.

With the strap placed once again placed securely over her shoulder, Hermione looked to the man still lying in a heap on the floor, debating if her magic was strong enough to use a Levitation Charm to get him out of the Ministry. With little debate, knowing that her legs were already having a hard enough time supporting her let alone the added weight of a full-grown man, she knew that was her best, correction, only option.

Using her wand, she casted the Levitation Charm on him, biting her lower lip as his body faltered slightly while moving higher into the air. Deciding it was probably best to keep him lower to the ground, just in case her magic did give out, Hermione manoeuvred him out of the Death Chamber and into the Entrance Chamber.

The spinning of the doors when she re-entered the Chamber made her slightly dizzy and waver on her feet, the man wavering in the air next to her, but she forced herself to regain her equilibrium. Thankful that she had the foresight to mark the exit door, she charmed the door open, wincing when the man's shoulder hit the doorframe hard as she tried to manoeuvre him out.

By the time she had Apparated both of them back to the front door of Grimmauld, Hermione was practically dead on her feet. Dead on her feet and, once she managed to open the door and levitate the man inside, staring down a firing squad composed of Ron and Harry.

"So," Harry spoke, his voice breaking the silence of the library as he interrupted Hermione from her musings. She blinked her eyes and looked up from to see the black haired man had finally stopped pacing and was now in front of the two chairs, standing directly between Ron and Hermione. He opened his mouth to speak again, but just shook his head in disbelief before closing his jaw.

Hermione let the sigh of irritation that she had been holding back finally escape, no longer caring about giving Harry his time to accommodate. "I did what was needed to be done, just like I have always done," she pointedly reminded him, deciding she was too tired to bother with subtlety. "And I refuse to make any apologies for it."

"There were other options!" Harry roared. "There were options other than to bring _him_ back!"

"First, you know it wasn't my intention to bring _him_, as you so _politely_ referred, back. Which you very well know," she retorted, leaning forward in her chair. "And second, there weren't other options, which you also know but have been refusing to acknowledge."

She glanced over to Ron, slightly surprised that he hadn't jumped in yet to once again valiantly defend his best friend, but the red haired man was sitting there, his eyes looking off towards the door. Hermione thought at first that he was contemplating the easiest method of escape, not wanting to be in the middle of what could easily turn into a heated argument given Harry's recent re-acquaintance with being stubborn and Hermione's own stubbornness that was only exacerbated by her tiredness. But her mind suddenly clicked and she realized that he wasn't staring at the door so much as he was trying to avoid both her eyes and Harry's.

"You knew it, too, didn't you?" she prompted, her voice taking on a gentler tone in an attempt to not get Ron's back riled up. "You knew we were running out of time and options."

It was apparently Ron's turn now to let out a heavy sigh as he brought up his hand to rub roughly at his face, the soft scratching of his palm over his five o'clock shadow breaking the otherwise tense silence that had taken over the library as Harry and Hermione both awaited his answer.

"Yes," he finally said, sending an apologetic look to Harry. The other man gave him a dirty look, obviously having expected Ron's support on this point. "C'mon Harry, it's the bloody truth, mate. We really botched it on recovering his Horcruxes, not even bothering to make it look like they haven't been disturbed and, now with You-Know-Who destroying the accidental one he made in you; well, he has to have started to wonder about the safety of his other ones."

Ron had kept glancing between Harry and Hermione while he talked, undoubtedly noticing the twin looks of surprise on both of their faces because he shrugged his shoulders defensively. "What?" he protested. "I can be observant! Besides," he continued, "it's like a game of chess. You should know where your pieces are at all times but you might get a little too focused on setting a trap that you accidentally lose a pawn that you hadn't realized was in danger so then you obsessively recheck all of your pieces for traps."

"And Riddle is compulsive enough to have done exactly that after his Killing Curse failed to serve its purpose that day in Diagon Alley," Harry surmised thoughtfully before turning back to Hermione. "I understand that part; what I don't understand is how you can just automatically assume it's him that came out of the Veil."

Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion, not quite grasping what Harry was trying to imply. Her mind seemed to be a bit foggy from her fatigue, which she was certain was mostly to blame for her uncharacteristic slowness. "I'm sorry Harry, I'm afraid I don't follow," she said apologetically.

"You know what both Dumbledore and Lupin said about bringing people back from the Veil," he explained, his voice taking on an edge of irritation. "That if you even attempted it, the person you attempted to bring back would be something unrecognizable; they would be nothing like the person who had gone in. Besides, there's this little fact that he didn't even go through the Veil!"

Hermione opened her mouth to object but Harry forged ahead in his anger, effectively cutting off her words of explanation. "It's magic Dumbledore couldn't even pull off and you managed to do it for a traitor that we've only seen in pictures!"

The fog in her mind cleared and Hermione felt like smacking herself for having not seen it earlier; it wasn't about Regulus. _Well, not __**entirely**__ about Regulus,_ she mentally amended. It was about the fact that, after Dumbledore had eliminated all hope in that avenue, she had given him a faint glimmer of possibility, only to have Regulus appear instead of Sirius. It was too close not to hurt.

"I didn't mean for it to work out that way, Harry. I went to get Sirius; I don't know why Regulus was pulled instead," she told him. It was something that baffled her, why Regulus had been the one pulled out of the Veil instead of Sirius but it was something she planned to figure out.

*

With a groan he rolled over underneath the covers, the whisper of the sheets rubbing against each other and the creaking of the bed springs sounding through the air to break the early morning silence that had owned the room. His eyes opened slowly, not wanting to have to face the realization that he was still a virtual prisoner at Lestrange Manor, but when he caught a glimpse of a familiar sight that he'd been quite certain he would see again, Regulus' eyes popped open and sat up immediately.

Regulus was surprised to note the stiff tenderness in his arms and legs, but pushed that thought to the back of his mind for consideration later as he took in his surroundings. He was back at Grimmauld Place, back in his bedroom; back _home_. As he looked around, he noted that the wallpaper was a little more faded than what he remembered it being but that could have just been his mind having added a more favourable light on the mental image he had held dear for these few past, rather long, months.

Groaning once again as he turned in the bed to put his feet on the ground, Regulus' mind started turning, wondering how exactly he had ended up back at Grimmauld; he couldn't figure out if he was actually there or if this was some cruel illusion to help break him into submission. A memory started to niggle at the back of his mind, a hint that there was more wrong with this picture than what met the eye and Regulus let his mind relax as he closed his eyes, trying to coax the memory forward.

_A cave, water, something with a locket, but all of that was pushed aside by the vivid image of a green jet streaming towards his chest._

_He shouldn't be alive,_ he realized with a start. Regulus immediately patted down his sides as he looked frantically around the room, searching for his wand only to find that it was gone.

His hope for the former situation started to diminish, but he tried to hold onto the possibility of that outcome; there was still a chance that someone could have stepped in. Perhaps Sirius decided to finally care about the trouble his younger brother had gotten himself into or, maybe, his parents, on the slim possibility that they actually decided to worry about the son they had so effortlessly discarded. Or perhaps even Dumbledore's merry little band of Phoenixes; any one of them could have heard rumours about what Voldemort had planned for him because, surely, the Dark Lord would have wanted to make Regulus an example to his other Death Eaters and there was the chance, albeit slim, that they could have stepped in to intervene. And as a reputed Death Eater, it would make sense for any of them to confiscate his wand.

But even with all the rationalization his mind could muster, Regulus could still feel his heart sinking in his chest. Pushing off the bed to stand up, he noted that he was still dressed in the robes that he had worn to the cave that day; he didn't even know how long he had been sleeping, if that had been hours or even days ago. He gave the sleeve a sniff, still smelling the stench of dampness from the cave that had seeped into his robes and decided that it couldn't have been too long ago for the aroma to still be so heavily embedded in the fabric.

Looking at the door that, ideally, led out of his bedroom, Regulus marched resolutely over and stood in front of the heavy oak door, the brass door knob glistening with so much promise. His hand rose and grasped around the knob, feeling the cold bite of the metal into his skin, before slowly turning it. He held his breath in anticipation, knowing that if this was an illusion of Voldemort's, it was highly unlikely the door would lead anywhere, if it even opened. But the distinct click of the latch releasing gave way to Regulus' relief and the breath he had held was let out in a whoosh of air.

Stepping back, he opened the door cautiously, peering through the slowly opening crack to find the hallway empty before opening the door wider. He warily poked his head out of the door, looking at both ends of the long hallway and finding them both void of people. His hope that he really was back with his parents was starting to be renewed as he stepped out into the hallway, the old wooden flooring groaning under his weight.

He started to walk down the hallway, noting that there were a few things that had changed since he had last walked this hall, intent on finding either his mother or father, hoping they could help to give him some answers to the questions that were running through his mind; the most prevalent one being how he had gotten here and to whom he owed his immense gratitude.

Regulus was about to head down the staircase, thinking that his best chance would be on the lower level, particularly the kitchen since if his parents were out, Kreacher would still be there, but paused when he heard a voice rise in the library.

"There were other options!" cried out a male voice.

His curiosity perked, Regulus once again cursed his lack of a wand as he crept back slowly towards the library. He used his memories from his childhood when he would sneak down to the kitchen to grab sweets in the middle of the night to avoid the boards that he knew let out loud squeaks as he grew ever closer to the library.

Thankfully, the double doors had been left open, candle light pouring out along with the hints of the early morning sunlight. He could now make out the words of what sounded like two different men and a woman. And, given the small snatches of conversation he could now catch, they seemed to be talking about chess of all things.

He pushed the door further open to reveal the inhabitants, all of whom thankfully had their attention elsewhere. There was a red-haired man sitting in one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace, both of which had been turned around to face the larger portion of the room. He looked to be a Weasley; they were the only bloody Wizarding family in all of Britain to beget so many blasted redheaded offspring.

But adding to the confusion was the fact that this man looked to be about Regulus' age and, as far as Regulus knew, there weren't any Weasleys around his age, at least not in this area. Not to mention the fact that even if there were, there was certainly no way they would have been invited as guests into the Black family home while his parents resided there.

_Perhaps he had been out longer than he thought,_ Regulus mused, _and somehow Sirius had managed to take over the family home._ He couldn't help but smirk over the thought, wondering what other changes his brother might have implemented that had the added benefit of causing their dear parents to roll over in their graves.

His attention was drawn back into the room by the black haired man standing in front of the chairs who had started to move around, almost as if he were trying to puzzle out something. As Regulus looked closer, he realized with a hint of disgust that the man was Potter; the same Potter that had befriended Sirius and had been one of those to offer him a way away from his family and a chance at a different way of life- a way that Regulus had never been offered by anyone.

Pushing aside the bitterness, silently hoping that it wasn't Potter that he would now have to owe a life debt to, Regulus' eyes moved to the third of their little gathering, the brown curly haired woman sitting in the other armchair. Even from his distant position in the doorway, Regulus could see the dark lines of exhaustion under her eyes, not to mention the way she was holding her body, as if she were trying to prevent herself from falling asleep where she sat.

But despite the exhaustion that had taken over her features, Regulus found himself intrigued by her. It wasn't any one particular feature of hers that drew him in; rather, it was the combination that created an alluring picture. Her soft lips seemed to have a natural tiny quirk to them that gave the indication that she knew something many others didn't and, even though they were weary, her eyes practically sparkled with knowledge.

She had a confident air in the way that she held herself was alluring to Regulus and he found himself jealous of Potter, even though he had no indication that he was dating this woman. In fact, he was almost certain Potter had married that redheaded woman who had been in Gryffindor house during their school years. Still, there was a familiarity between Potter and this woman that Regulus wished he had with her.

"It's magic Dumbledore couldn't even pull off and you managed to do it for a traitor that we've only seen in pictures!"

Regulus forgot about the woman and focused his sole attention on Potter who had uttered the words. Even though he hadn't been present for most of the conversation, he knew deep in his chest that the traitor they were speaking of was him. The term had been applied to him so often by members of both sides that it had become a second nature for him to be associated with that word.

"I didn't mean for it to work out that way, Harry."

_Harry?_ Regulus repeated, even more confused now than he had been before; the Potter that was friends with Sirius was named James. He leaned in closer, hoping that answers would be forthcoming without him having to ask for them. He wasn't sure they would be so free with their words once they knew he was around.

"I went to get Sirius; I don't know why Regulus was pulled out instead."

A scowl formed on Regulus' face even though he knew he shouldn't be surprised; of course it would have been about his brother. And, of course, he would have been the second thought, if even a thought at all.

"I do hate to interrupt this lovely little discussion you seem to be having but perhaps one of you three could possibly clear a few things up for me," he interrupted, immediately drawing the attention of the other three people in the room as he took a few steps into the library. "We can start with why I'm here."

"You don't remember?" the woman asked, holding up a hand to cut off whatever Potter was about to say. And judging from the look on his face, it wasn't going to be something pleasant. Not that Regulus should be surprised.

"Should I?" Regulus asked, quirking his eyebrow. Honestly, what sort of former Slytherin did they think he was to give up information so easily? Granted, he had no bloody clue about what was going on, but that didn't mean he was about to play the naïve fool. He took a few steps closer, finally stopping a few feet away from the group, making sure that all three of them were still in the center of his view.

"I had hoped you would," the woman replied before looking at the other two with a worried expression that set Regulus even more on edge. "It would have made things quite a bit easier to explain."

Regulus watched the men carefully for their reactions; while the woman had seemed welcoming and willing to work with him, the two men, particularly Potter, had immediately closed off as soon as he had made his presence known in the room. The redheaded man had leaned forward in his chair, his arms resting on his legs in a stance that was deceptively relaxed but Regulus knew from experience it was one that would allow him to react quickly. He was surprised to find himself feeling a hint of respect for the other man's caution, even though it put Regulus at a further disadvantage, especially considering the fact that he was without the aid of a wand.

Potter continued to hold his ground fiercely, judging from the snarl that seemed to be fast becoming a permanent feature on the man's face. Regulus sent him a smirk, but the expression froze on his face as he noticed a scar on the young man's forehead that, though he didn't know Potter well, he was almost certain the other man didn't have before. He certainly would have used it to his advantage with the witches and Regulus would have had to hear the mindless twittering about it even down in the Slytherin common room.

He turned his attention back to the young woman who was watching him patiently, as if she were letting him get a grasp on his surroundings before bombarding him with questions. He found his respect for her growing at a rapid rate and wasn't sure how he felt about putting his trust in a complete stranger.

"Start at the beginning –" Regulus demanded, floundering around for her name, his frustration over being at a complete disadvantage where they clearly knew who he was, but he had little clue as to who they were finally coming out in his tone.

"Hermione," the woman supplied with a small smile. "Hermione Granger."

"Start at the beginning, please, Hermione," Regulus repeated, adding the kind word in an attempt to both make up for his abruptness and to hopefully hurry her into a reply.

"You died," she said simply. Regulus opened his mouth to protest, to point out the obvious fact that if he had actually _died_, he obviously wouldn't be standing here with them, but Hermione held up her hand to stall him just as she had done earlier to the man he had thought was Potter. "You were killed by Voldemort in the cave, or at least, that's the story that we've heard."

She stopped again to take a breath, her eyes never wavering from his; most likely to judge the amount of shock he was undergoing and how much more he could take. Even though it was a hit, he appreciated the fact that she was to the point and matter-of-fact about the situation; he didn't think he could handle someone tentatively stepping around the facts at this time.

"This all happened twenty-two years ago," Hermione told him. Regulus could feel his heart clench tight in his chest as the shock of her revelation washed over him, leaving him numb and disbelieving. He listened, disconnected from his surroundings, as she gave him a brief overview of the years since his 'death.'

He barely heard her, though, only latching on to the things that were relevant to him at this time. The man next to him was Potter's son, not Potter himself. Sirius and his parents were all dead, or presumed dead, in Sirius' case. And Voldemort was still alive, despite having been killed himself. All of which brought them to the present and the reason behind her little ritual to bring back his dear brother; the Horcruxes.

He couldn't help the small snort of disbelieving amusement that escaped from his mouth as he shook his head, earning him looks of disgust from both Potter and Weasley, having finally learned his name during Hermione's overview. But while the two men looked on at him in disgust, Hermione gave him a look of sympathy before glaring at the men, presumably to chastise them for their reactions. Regulus found he couldn't bring himself to give a damn about what the two men thought but was surprised to find that he appreciated Hermione's response.

"So are we certain that anyone is actually dead?" Regulus replied sarcastically. "Or should we perhaps be preparing ourselves for Sirius to walk through the door at any moment. After all, _he_ was the one you were trying to return, wasn't it? You must have received a great disappointment."

"One might think you would be grateful," Hermione retorted. Regulus was surprised to hear her lash back at him, especially after her chastisement of the two men, but found that instead of being angered over her response, he was rather pleased that she wasn't one of those weak-minded simpering witches who had no backbone. "After all," she continued, a sneer starting to form on her lips. "I can't imagine it as exactly pleasant being stuck."

"Stuck?" he asked, his amusement over her indignant reaction fading.

Hermione sighed, _most likely from realizing that she had said too much_, he mused, and rubbed at her eyes that were growing more tired by the minute. "It's only a theory," she explained after biting hesitantly on her lower lip, drawing Regulus' eyes to the abused lip. "And it's one that I actually don't know if it's possible."

Regulus gave her a pointed look, not particularly wanting to wait until whenever it would be that she finally got around to sharing her knowledge. He'd had enough of that in his lifetime, _former lifetime?_ his mind corrected, even though he wasn't quite sure if that was the right term, either.

"Tommorow?" she requested, her tone holding a hopeful note as she gingerly picked herself up from the comfortable depths of the chair.

Regulus noted the tenderness she was giving her legs, stepping lightly and slowly on them as she started to walk past him towards the door. It made him wonder what the other two men were thinking to pull her into what basically amounted to an interrogation when she was practically dead on her feet. He immediately sent a look of disgust to Ron and Harry, both of whom merely returned the glare.

"That will be acceptable," he replied to Hermione, turning his attention once again back to her. The remnants of his anger over being pushed off started to melt away at the grateful smile she gave him. He couldn't help but return the expression as he watched her walk out of the room, hoping that their discussion tomorrow would consist solely of the two of them, leaving the two men who, as far as Regulus could tell from his limited interaction with them, would be more of a hindrance than help.

Even now he could feel their cold stares boring into his back. _As if dark glares were the worst thing he's had to face in all of his years,_ he mentally scoffed as the doors closed behind Hermione. Turning back to Ron and Harry, he gave them both a nod before walking out of the room, intent on finding one of the spare wands he knew his family had kept around the house.

It wasn't exactly standard practice but the Blacks, along with a few other Pureblood families such as the Malfoys, had made it practically a requirement to keep a few extra wands around the house in case of emergencies. Such as needing one that couldn't be traced back to you.

_And here he had been starting to think that he would never again be grateful for the cold deviousness of his parents,_ he thought with a scoff as he went off in search.


	7. Chapter 6 Diversions of War

**Chapter 6**

_Serfs were often left unprotected while the wars raged around them. It wasn't uncommon for them to be traded amongst the landowners, used as a diversion in war, or even sacrificed to allow the landowners to escape harm._

After finding a wand, noting that the Sirius must have grabbed one or two from the house after his escape from Azkaban, Regulus returned to his room to pull out a few of the books he had on his shelves, hoping their contents might have some clue as to his return. Unfortunately, it seemed that someone had raided the shelves for all the interesting and most helpful tomes. He had briefly debated going to the library to see if they had been relocated there but, with his luck, Harry and Ron would still be there and he didn't particularly care to interact with either of the men.

Instead, he spent the rest of the day writing out what he could remember from the day that Voldemort had taken his life. He drew out what he could remember from the wards, the layout of the cave and its location, his rough guess of how many Inferi had been placed in the cave, even though that number could have increased exponentially over the passing years. He wrote out everything he could remember, down to the smallest detail before trying to summon Kreacher, hoping the house-elf could fill in the gaps.

Regulus tried calling out his name several times but the tiny elf had failed to appear with the telltale pop of Apparation. He surmised that it was possible the house-elf had succumbed to old age, which, while it would have added to the overall sense of loss he was feeling, wouldn't have surprised him; while house elves typically have longer life spans than wizards, Kreacher had already been a part of the family for almost two generations of Blacks and was starting to get up in age, even by house-elf standards.

The other option was that with the supposed dissolution of this branch of the Black family, the magic binding him had either released him completely as a free elf or it had transferred ownership of him to his cousins. For the tiny elf's sake, Regulus hoped that if it had been Kreacher's fate, he had gone to Narcissa or somehow to Andromeda rather than to Bellatrix.

Deciding to add that to his ever growing list of questions to ask Hermione, Regulus went over his information once more, adding notes here and there, before wrapping up the rolls of parchment and placing them in the bottom drawer of his desk and going to bed.

The morning greeted him much the same as the previous morning with the sun filtering in through the windows, breaking up the heavy darkness that had overtaken the room. He quickly showered and changed for the day, making sure to tuck his wand in the holster he had strapped to his arm, letting his sleeve fall down to cover it.

Disgust had filled him when he had noticed that the Dark Mark was still burned into the flesh of his forearm when he had undressed to bathe. He didn't know what he had hoped would have happened to it, he just knew that he didn't want the constant reminder of his foolish past so prominently displayed. Even now, he had the mark covered up by his holster, but he could still see the edges through the bands. Sneering, he quickly pulled his sleeve down over the wand and holster, placing the mark out of his sight.

He left his room, pausing long enough to pull out his wand to cast a complex locking charm on it out of habit, before heading down the front staircase to go to the kitchen. Much as he had the day before when walking down the hallway, Regulus stopped now and then, taking in the differences that had occurred to the house since he had last been there. At least now he knew that they were true changes rather than the manufactured visions of a deranged megalomaniac.

The wooden floor practically glimmered with the thorough polishing it had been given and the dingy old floral runner carpets had been, thankfully, tossed out. The walls were still a depressing color but the overall feel had been changed with the removal of the heavy curtains at the end of the hallway, letting the bright welcoming sunlight filter in. The pictures of various relatives, all of them sharp-tongued and vicious, had also been removed, most likely to the attic but Regulus had other wishes as to their fate.

As he walked down the large staircase, he saw that the changes to the house had continued down here, including the surprise addition of what appeared to be a portrait covered up by curtains. Curious, Regulus took a few steps towards the portrait, the gold frame peeking over the top of the curtains. He was curious to see who the portrait had been of, allowing it to have escaped the purging fate of all the other paintings from upstairs. Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Regulus reached out a hand and grabbed the fabric, pulling to part the curtains.

The shock of seeing his mother in the painting was nothing compared to the surprised that was etched onto her oil face as she paused. Her mouth had immediately opened into what Regulus well-recognized as the beginning of a shrieking lecture as soon as the curtains had parted, but she had frozen upon seeing one of her dead sons standing in front of her rather than any of the new inhabitants.

Regulus could only guess how well she had adapted to having relative strangers living in her house, especially ones that she had considered beneath her when she had been alive.

"Yes?" he smirked, purposely taunting his one-dimensional mother. He kept one hand on the curtain, ready to pull it shut at a moment's notice should he need to do so.

"But… my word….you-" Walburga Black sputtered in a manner more undignified than Regulus had ever had the fortune of witnessing, surpassing even her indignation when Sirius had left the house to live with the Potters.

"Surprised to see that not just Sirius managed to escape from the depths of hell you sentenced him to after turning your back on him?" Regulus filled in, relishing in having left his mother speechless. "Yes, I can see where that might leave you a bit flabbergasted. Nice to see you again, too, mum."

He didn't wait for her response, instead drawing the curtains close once again before continuing on his way to the kitchen. And if there was a little extra bounce in his step as he walked, he wasn't going to be ashamed over it.

*

The sound of her spoon clinking against the ceramic mug was the only noise to break the early morning peace of the kitchen as she waited for Regulus to appear. She had expected him to track her down first thing this morning, his impatience having practically radiated from his body the previous day when she had brushed him off, not that she could blame him. But she was rather grateful for the fact that he was even willing to hear her out, especially after overhearing the traitor talk that Harry had been spewing the previous day.

_Honestly, Harry knew that Regulus was their only chance at this point in time, why did he feel it necessary to run his mouth and burn bridges?_ she lamented.

The sound of the stairs creaking under the weight of someone's footsteps alerted her that she would soon have company, most likely in the form of the man who had returned from the Veil. Neither Harry nor Ron had been particularly fond of waking up extra early now that it was no longer required of them and had taken to sleeping in late on the mornings that Hermione had set aside for research.

_On second thought, that might have actually been the __**sole**__ reason they had taken to sleeping in late on those mornings,_ she thought with a hint of bitterness.

While she waited for her guest to make his way to the kitchen, she pulled the spoon out of her mug and set it on the napkin on the counter before lifting the warm mug between her hands to her nose, taking a deep reassuring breath, inhaling the strong scent of peppermint. The liquid was still too hot to take a sip, but the scent was enough to help wake up her mind for the day.

As she lowered the mug, she saw that her visitor had finally arrived and was leaning against the doorway, his eyes watching her intently. Hermione could feel a slight blush spread across her checks as she set the mug on the counter. Thankfully, he didn't smirk even though he surely must have noticed the telltale color splashed across her face. Instead he gave her a small smile, pushing his shoulder off of the wooden frame before walking over to the small round kitchen table in the corner of the room, pulling out a chair to sit.

Hermione watched him as he walked, almost ashamed at catching herself admiring him. She knew from Remus' stories and from pictures in Harry's photo album that Sirius had been quite good looking during his Hogwarts days, but it was hard to see remnants of his previous self during his days at Grimmauld after Azkaban. Regulus, however, still held the air of assurance that had surely been bred into the Black brothers since birth, which, combined with the knowledge in his eyes, was enough to have Hermione feeling little flips in her stomach when she was around him.

"Would you like a cup?" she offered, holding up an empty mug with one hand and using the other to gesture to the tea pot that still held hot water on the stove. Regulus shook his head 'no' and, with his foot, pushed out the chair next to him, tilting his head as he gave her an inviting grin.

Instead of returning the smile with one that would have been so easy to give, Hermione forced herself to remember that she knew virtually nothing about this man other than what Sirius had told Harry, none of which had put Regulus in a favorable light. She set down the empty mug, replacing it in her hand with her one full of peppermint tea before leaning back against the cupboard.

"You said something about me being 'stuck,'" Regulus commented, obviously choosing to ignore her decline of his offer, at least for the time being, though he did raise his eyebrow in question when she had done so.

Hermione blew across the steaming mug before taking a tentative sip, taking her time in formulating her answer. She had learned from her experiences with Dumbledore that, personally, she would rather have all the facts presented to her in a reasonable order and at one time, rather than the tentative approach that her former professor had seemed to favuor, deciding when others could best handle the information, even if it meant the dispersal of knowledge was spread out over the course of several years.

Fortunately, that tactic had seemed to work well with Regulus yesterday, the young man taking in all the information with a quiet air, letting her speak and answer any questions he may have instead of storming off before she could completely explain. _Hopefully he would keep that same response today,_ she thought, mentally crossing her fingers.

"You know from what I told you yesterday that your brother, Sirius," she amended upon seeing the slight scowl on Regulus' face, "disappeared in the Veil. Not much is known about the Veil, unfortunately, and the references to it in books are, well, rather sparse."

Regulus nodded along, encouraging her to continue as she paused to take another sip of her tea. His stance in his chair was relaxed, his arms crossed on the table as he leaned forward, intently listening to each word.

It was a bit of a change to what she was used to, to be honest. Ron and Harry had gotten better about listening but they still wanted to just hear the end thoughts, never how she came to her conclusions or the line of reasoning. _It was kind of nice, actually, especially since now she had someone who might be able to offer his own thoughts and-_ Hermione halted that line of reasoning immediately, not wanting to let herself already get close to someone she didn't know she could trust.

"There are some theories that the Veil is a form of stasis; that whatever, or in this case, whomever, goes in is held there, suspended in time. Unfortunately, they seem to think that while objects can go into the Veil, they cannot be retrieved," Hermione continued.

"And the other theories?" Regulus prompted.

Hermione allowed herself a small smile. "Others think that it could be a true gateway to the other side."

"Which, if it were, could create quite a problem, considering that you were able to retrieve me," Regulus added. "And it would make Voldemort's quest for immortality much easier, so long as he had a willing fool to keep bringing him back each time."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "But that would happen only if that theory was correct."

"It isn't?" he challenged. He pointedly looked down at his own body before returning his gaze to her face, his eyebrow arched.

"Not that I believe," she amended. "I personally think the first theory has more merit, flawed as it is."

"The first being that what goes into the Veil can be retrieved," Regulus replied wryly.

"Almost," Hermione corrected. "You never went in the Veil, at least not that we know of."

Regulus shook his head no, at least partly confirming the story that they had heard from Sirius concerning his brother's death. She would have to ask him later about the specifics and made a mental note to do so before she continued.

"I think there is a possibility for it to act as a gateway, as in your case, though I'm not quite sure how it worked out that you came through the Veil." She nibbled on her lower lip before taking a drink from her tea, once again looking up at Regulus. "To be honest, before you appeared, I didn't think it was possible for the Veil to act as a gateway."

"That's all you know?" he asked. He must have seen Hermione visibly bristle because he hastened to add, "Not that it's bad, I didn't mean to imply that. It's just that I'm feeling a little, well, a little lost."

Hermione could feel her irritation over his words start to melt away, understanding that the confusion she was going through was nothing in comparison to what he was dealing with. And, if she were honest with herself, she wasn't sure she would be dealing with it in the same calm and patient manner he was if their situations were reversed.

"That's rather understandable," she said sympathetically, finally moving over to the table to sit down in the chair that he had offered earlier. "And I'm hoping that, with going over what you last remember and looking through the books I used for the ritual, maybe we can come to an answer."

She couldn't help the goofy smile that started to grace her face as Regulus gave her a grateful look, moving his hand to put it on top of one of hers on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. _Good grief,_ she ridiculed herself with a mental eye roll as she pulled her hand away under the pretext of taking another drink from her tea. _Stop acting like a silly girl._

Regulus said nothing as she pulled away her hand, instead bringing his own back in front of him to fiddle with the salt shaker that had been left on the table from dinner the night before, his brow furrowed deep in thought. Hermione didn't interrupt him, instead choosing to sit there quietly waiting, knowing how much she hated it when she was interrupted mid-thought.

Eventually, she stood up to make another cup of tea, reheating the water with a charm since she had forgotten to replace the kettle on the heat. She turned around to look at Regulus, surprised to find him watching her; she had thought that she would have to wait to catch his eye. Shaking the kettle as she tilted her head towards the empty mug she had left earlier, she renewed her previous offer. This time he nodded, giving her a small smile. She poured some hot water into the other mug then brought both of them over to the table before going back to fetch the narrow box with the different tea bags tossed in it.

"I never did thank you," Regulus said as he flipped through the different varieties of tea in the box, finally deciding on green tea. "I know you expected to retrieve my brother but you still have my gratitude."

Hermione pulled out another packet of peppermint, ripping the top off the packaging to pull out the bag and drop it into her steaming water. She was about to open her mouth, knowing she was going to cringe when the maudlin reply left her lips, but she was cut off by the appearance of a silvery lynx bursting through the kitchen door and coming to a stop in front of her, jaws open as Kingsley's deep baritone voice filtered out.

Death Eaters in Diagon Alley, reinforcements needed.

The lynx didn't wait for a response from Hermione before turning and bounding away, undoubtedly to the next house where Order members lived. Hermione immediately forgot about her tea and sent off her own Patronus to Harry and Ron before rushing out into the front hallway to grab her clock and her wand holster from the closet. Voldemort had been trying for months to take over Diagon Alley, one of the few remaining passages between Muggle and Wizarding Britain, but had been thankfully thwarted each time.

"I'm coming with you," Regulus' determined voice stated from behind her. She whirled around in surprise, having not noticed that he had followed her out of the kitchen.

"Out of the question," she replied brusquely, hastily strapping her wand holster onto her arm. "For one thing, you're supposed to be dead. A dead _Death Eater_."

"So I'm under house arrest?" he asked angrily, taking a step towards her. "_You_ brought me back, and, from what you've told me, _you_ need _my_ help. I'm giving it."

Hermione sighed, knowing he had a point. If they were going to ask for his help, they couldn't exactly be picky about refusing him. "You don't have a wand, though," she protested, a last ditch effort to hopefully keep him in the house.

Regulus merely shot her a knowing grin before pulling up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing a holster similar to her own with a wand strapped in it. She absentmindedly noted the Dark Mark still present on his skin, a cold reminder of his former, _supposedly,_ she added mentally, allegiances that helped to cast a pall over the understanding she had come to with him. Before she could come up with another objection, Regulus held up a hand to hold her off.

"I can help," he repeated, his tone insistent. "And I have just as much cause to fight as you do. He took my life."

Sighing once again, Hermione went against her better judgment and once they were both outside on the front stoop, grabbed his arm, ignoring the infuriating grin that had spread across his face as she Apparated them to Diagon Alley.


	8. Chapter 7 A Rich and Mighty Force

**Chapter 7**

_The bishop represents the church which was a rich and mighty force in medieval times. Religion often played a large part in every person's life._

Jets of red and blue were flying through the air when they appeared in the middle of the street, both of them rushing to take cover behind some of the rubble that had fallen from one of the shop fronts.

"Great positioning," Regulus grumbled as he leaned against the large obstruction, trying to peer around to get an idea of the situation.

"It's not as if I planned it," Hermione retorted, glaring at his back. A stream of blue shot over their heads, hitting the stone awning of the building next to them, sending small chunks of mortar raining down. Hermione quickly pulled out her wand, casting _Protego_ over both of them, making the chunks bounce off the invisible bubble harmlessly.

Regulus turned back around, looked down at the fresh rubble that now lay at his feet and then back up to the smug smirk on Hermione's face, and laughed.

"Good catch, princess," he teased. "Glad you'll be next to me."

Without giving her a second look to see if she was following, he pulled out his wand and stepped into the fray, shooting off spells towards his former allies as he went. Hermione hurried after him, her eyes immediately catching the elder Nott standing stock still in shock as he watched Regulus pass by before snarling and aiming his wand at the younger man's back.

Turning her wand at the elder Death Eater, Hermione stopped in her tracks, pausing long enough to shout, _"Glacies Tempestas,"_ hurtling a storm cloud dropping large ice chunks in his direction. She watched long enough to see him duck down, covering his head with his arms as he tried to dispel the cloud with a _"Finite Incantatum,"_ but to no avail.

Regulus was already halfway down the street when she turned her attention back to him, helping out Ron with a well-placed spell to the Death Eater that was starting to overpower the red-haired man. Hermione hurried up to them, making it there just in time to hear Ron offer Regulus a begrudging thank you. Fortunately, Regulus didn't rub it in, instead just nodding before moving away with Hermione further down the street.

Ron shot Hermione a look as she left, clearly telling her that he thought this was a bad idea, but there was little he could do about it now. A sharp Slicing hex cutting across her arm drew her attention away from Ron as she cried out in pain, her wand coming up as she looked around for the source of the curse.

A loud cackle broke through the air and Hermione could feel her blood chill in her veins, immediately recognizing the voice. Bellatrix Lestrange. She noticed the way Regulus' back stiffened next to her as he slowly turned around to face his cousin.

"Poor little Mudblood," Bella taunted as she stepped over the rubble to get closer to Hermione. "You really should be careful around those who want to kill you, dearie."

"You never did play fair, now, did you, Bella?" Regulus drawled, diverting his cousin's focus away from Hermione.

Hermione watched as Bellatrix stopped in her tracks, her mocking smile frozen on her face as her body stiffened, undoubtedly recognizing the voice of a cousin she had long since known was dead. Her eyes visibly widened as she took in Regulus' frame. The sight of his mocking smirk spurred her into action and she shook her wand at him, casting a _Crucio_ that Hermione deflected away from Regulus. He merely stood, watching his cousin with a smug grin.

"How?" she demanded, shooting another curse, this time with Regulus deflecting it as he started to move in a circle, keeping Bellatrix in front of him. "I watched as our Lord made you one of his guardians!"

Regulus didn't appear to be as puzzled by Bellatrix's words as Hermione felt and the brown haired woman knew that she had missed something. She saw another masked Death Eater start to sneak up behind Regulus and sent a disarming spell quickly followed by a _"Petrificus Totalis"_, letting the man's body fall hard to the ground.

Hermione then took a step back, giving Bellatrix and Regulus their space, instinctively knowing that this had to be a battle between the two of them, just like it had been between Bellatrix and Sirius. She only hoped that Regulus wouldn't meet the same end as his brother; despite herself, she was already becoming somewhat attached to the bothersome man.

"Magic," Regulus sneered before yelling, _"Flamma Telum!"_

Hermione watched as a large arrow made of fire formed in the air, flying straight towards Bellatrix. Even though Hermione hadn't been familiar with the spell, _undoubtedly because it was on the darker end of the magical spectrum_, Bellatrix was able to dispel it with a silent wave of her wand, sending a victorious look at her cousin.

"Still playing with the spells we used as children, Regulus?" she sneered before repeating her earlier question, urgency dripping from her tone. "How did you make it out of that cave? Even your brother didn't manage to pull his mangy arse from the tight clasp of death that I sent him to!"

"Are you so certain on that, dear cousin?" Regulus asked, crouching low in preparation of an attack. "I'd check if I were you."

Bellatrix let out an enraged scream as she lunged towards Regulus, shooting off two silent spells in quick succession, both of them landing on his arm and immediately slicing the flesh wide open, making him stumble back unsteadily.

Hermione mentally cursed Regulus for his arrogance, seeing the small flash of panic that flittered through Bellatrix's eyes over the possibility of Sirius being alive. Panic in a woman as unstable as Bellatrix meant that she would do whatever it took to reassert control and the small amount of restraint she had shown towards her cousin would now be completely forgotten.

She watched, holding her breath, as Regulus rallied, deflecting the next couple of hexes that Bella cast, slowly but steadily getting his footing back underneath him. Hermione could hear the shouts from the other battles and knew that she should be helping, knew that the others needed as many wands as they could get, but she couldn't make her feet move away. Her wand remained pointed at Bellatrix, ready to step in to protect Regulus at a moment's notice.

Regulus smirked as he and Bellatrix continued to circle each other. Hermione watched intently, noting their stances and how they seemed perfectly attuned to each other, as if they were performing an intricate dance rather than a duel. A step to the left by Regulus was easily countered with a step to the right by Bellatrix, neither of them looking away from the other person's eyes as they moved.

Suddenly, Regulus lunged forward, shouting his words so that even Hermione could make them out clearly. _"Astrosus Lacuna!"_ he yelled, releasing a cloud of grey smoke that shot directly at Bella's head. She tried to ward it off, but the cloud circled around her, making it hard for Hermione to even see the other woman's face through the heavy fog. But she could hear the screams of terror.

Bellatrix dropped to the ground, her hands going up to clutch at her head, her screams slowly turning into cackles as her eyes stayed on Regulus.

"Interesting trick," she choked out, her voice raspy even as her body continued to shudder and heave. "Perhaps you did learn a thing or two during your days amongst us."

Hermione moved slowly towards Regulus, her eyes staying on Bellatrix, watching intently for any sudden move even though the woman appeared to still trying to compose herself from the spell Regulus had cast.

The sound of boots hitting the cobblestone street drew Hermione's attention and she saw Rodolphus Lestrange approaching, shooting off spells at both her and Regulus. They were little ones, merely stunners and _Petrificus Totalus,_ but they were enough to keep both of them occupied so Rodolphus could get to his wife and Disapparating both of them away.

Hermione looked up and down the street, seeing that most of the Death Eaters had retreated and those that remained were magically stunned and bound, waiting to be escorted by the Aurors back to the Ministry. Without looking, she could feel Regulus' presence as he took the last few steps to close the gap between them, coming to stand beside her.

"What was that spell you used on her?" Hermione asked quietly, not turning to look at him. Instead, she focused on the Weasley twins further down the street, already working on the repairs to their shop.

"Word of madness," Regulus informed her. She could feel his eyes on her now, watching her for her reaction. She made sure to keep her expression blank, focusing intently as George started to levitate a piece of plywood up to cover a broken window, a makeshift replacement until they could get a pane of glass to replace the shattered one.

"And what did it do?" she prompted, keeping her voice neutral.

She could hear Regulus give a heavy sigh and, out of the corner of her eye, saw him bring up a hand to run it through the black locks of his hair. "It has the relatively the same effect as a Dementor, making the person relive the traumas of their life," he explained, hesitating slightly before continuing. "I wasn't sure how it would work on her, especially since she had already started to become unstable the last time I saw her, but I needed something that would throw her off. Something that she couldn't easily repeal."

Hermione finally turned to look at him, her curiosity raised. "Why wouldn't she know the counter-curse for it?" she asked. "Or even a way to dispel it?"

"Mind spells have always been her weakness, both in performing and in reflecting," he explained, his voice taking on a detached air. Hermione couldn't help but feel sympathy for him; even though she didn't know the way he had come by this knowledge, she knew it couldn't have been a pleasant experience. "Bellatrix is much more adept at curses that cause physical pain; the Cruciatus, in particular."

Hermione nodded along, taking note to look up some good mind spells and to make sure to teach Harry and Ron. Regulus moved his shoulder around as he talked, his face cringing at the motion, drawing her attention back to the wounds that were still gaping and bleeding.

"We can talk back at-" she was going to say 'Grimm,' but the Fidelius Charm prevented her from doing so. It had been a mess the night she brought Regulus home; after forcing him awake long enough to blearily read the address on the spare piece of parchment she had in her pocket, he fell back asleep before the house even popped into view. "Home," she finished.

Regulus didn't disagree as she once again grabbed his arm and Apparated home.

*

He winced yet again as Hermione tried to gently pry the cotton of his sleeve away from the wound on his arm, but the dried blood made it stick, causing the wounds to bleed anew before she had even managed to start healing them. Finally, she managed to pull the sleeve down and off, leaving him sitting in the chair at the large library table half-naked. Half-naked and completely alone in the house with a girl who, he was finally willing to admit to himself, had him captivated from the moment he had set eyes on her.

He wasn't aware that fate could be so kind to him.

"I'm fine," he protested again. He knew that by this time, the third time that he's uttered his statement, his tone has taken on a growl to it, but after the day he's had, he'd rather not have to deal with anyone. Even despite the delicious temptation that Hermione presents. Instead, he would much rather go back to his room, do a hash job on fixing up his shoulder since he was rather crap at healing spells, and go over his notes once again.

"No, you're not," Hermione replied patiently as she started to examine the wounds on his arm. "Did you really think it wise to taunt her? Are you happy now?"

Regulus cringed again as she poked a little harder than necessary into one of the wounds, his lips curling into a snarl. "Here I thought you might appreciate irrationality in a man, given the company you choose to surround yourself with," he sneered.

"You've known Harry and Ron for less than a day," she retorted.

"Perhaps," he replied in a non-committal tone. "But from what I've seen of them, they tend to rush head first into situations, reacting first and thinking later." He turned around in his chair to look up at her and saw that she had started to nibble on her lower lip, a sign that he had already discovered as one she adapted when she was deep in thought. "And right now, you're hard-pressed to deny it because you've thought it once or twice yourself."

"I suppose this would be an instance of where it takes one to know one," she replied idly. "After all, given the history that I do know about you, while your head seems to prevail in some situations, there are others where you are more than willing to barge in, almost as if you are daring the Fates to strike you down where you stand. You're arrogant, stubborn, and rather overly confident. If anything, one would think you could relate to Harry and Ron on that aspect." She paused to give his arm a gentle prod. "How is it now? Do you want a numbing balm?"

"Battered and bruised," he replied with amusement. "As is my ego, thanks to you, so I can thoroughly sympathize."

Hermione glared down at him before returning her eyes to his arm, trying unsuccessfully to hide the amused smile on her lips. "Stubborn prat."

He barely caught her last softly uttered words but noted that they didn't hold the annoyance he had been expecting. Smirking, he turned back around in his chair as he let out a small chuckle that helped to distract him from the cold sting of the balm as it went to work on the bruised and battered skin.

_Well,_ he decided, _if he was forced to be in someone's company, he certainly wasn't going to complain if it was Hermione._

So long as he managed to not go and do anything rash, like saying rubbish to his shoulder, turning around, threading his fingers through her unruly hair and kissing her hard before thoroughly ravishing her.

_No, that probably wasn't the best idea,_ he lamented.

It had been nice talking with her in the kitchen that morning and having the opportunity to see her mind in action. He found himself watching her intently, unabashedly; he was practically able to see the pieces of the puzzle fly through her mind as she put them together, her intelligence sparkling in her eyes the entire time. He could feel the security of certainty around her and, despite having known her for such a short amount of time, he knew with almost absolute faith that she would be able to figure out this situation.

As Hermione continued to work, he relaxed into her touch, relishing the feel of her fingers rubbing softly over his skin while he mind started to go places that it probably shouldn't. Looking straight ahead at the fireplace, the wood crackling and burning as it warmed the room, Regulus decided it was finally time for him to swallow his pride. He only hoped that he wouldn't choke on it in the process.

"I apologize," he said softly. He felt Hermione lean forward to catch his words and heard her sharp intake of breath as she drew nearer. His skin practically vibrated in awareness of how close she was to him, her delicate scent swirling around and enveloping him. "I'm not angry at you and it was unfair of me to take it out on you."

"It's alright," Hermione said softly. "I rather think that obstinacy is an inherited character trait among the Blacks."

Regulus let out a soft snort over her teasing, though he couldn't deny her assessment; his brother and his cousins had all been proof of that particular quality.

"If I may ask," Hermione continued, replacing the cap on her jar of balm before grabbing another potion to apply, "who are you angry at?"

"Myself," he admitted ruefully. "I was naïve and foolhardy enough to let Voldemort and my cousin get the drop on me once and today I let her do it again. In the cave, I knew there was a possibility he could kill me, probably knew deep down in my gut that he would, but it wasn't a reality that I was prepared to fully accept. I acted with confidence, arrogance," he amended, knowing that Hermione's eyes were rolling behind him, "that I could still be worthwhile to him." Regulus paused to let out a derisive scoff before muttering to himself, "Guess I was worthwhile, just in an entirely different aspect."

"Is that what Bellatrix meant when she said that Voldemort had made you into one of his guardians?"

Regulus nodded. "He has an army of Inferi on the other side of the wards; my guess is that after he killed me, he made me into one of them." He couldn't help the shudder that ran through his body over the memory of that day in the cave, the little boy haunting his thoughts. Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she leaned in closer. He turned to smile up at her, appreciative of the silent comfort she offered.

"We'll have to make preparations on how to deal with them when we go to take down the wards," she noted, her voice taking on an absent-minded tone.

Regulus nodded but added nothing, letting Hermione's soothing touch lull him away from his memories. Between the warmth of the fire and the rubbing motion of Hermione's fingers, he soon found his eyes threatening to close shut. But a thought kept niggling at the back of his mind, one that he couldn't quite place as to why it was so important. Opening his eyes, he turned once again to look at Hermione, waiting until he drew her curious expression before speaking.

"That day in the cave," Regulus started, "Voldemort commanded one of his Inferi out of the lake and killed him in front of me."

Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion as her hands stopped the work of mending the broken skin, her wand hovering over one of the wounds. "But how is that possible?" she asked. "You can only make an Inferi from someone who is already dead. The most he could do was to release the magic that kept them animated."

"That's the point," he told her, watching her brow furrow even more. "Magic resides in their bodies to keep them animated and, as a result, it also keeps part of their soul anchored here."

"Stuck," Hermione breathed, starting to look excited. "It keeps them stuck, keeping them in a state of limbo, which is how you were able to come through the Veil even though you hadn't gone through it. The Veil isn't just a gateway to the other side. In fact, I'm willing to be that it's more of, well, for lack of a better term, it's more of a holding area for all the souls that can't completely cross over."

"Like Inferi," Regulus supplied.

"And ghosts," Hermione added thoughtfully, as she returned her attention back to his shoulder, mending the last of the cuts. She stood back to study her handiwork and Regulus immediately lamented the loss of her body heat next to his. "It looks like you're done."

Regulus gave a tentative rotation to his shoulder to test it out and was pleasantly surprised to feel no tight tugging at the freshly mended skin. "Thank you," he told her, standing up.

He briefly debated putting the ruined shirt back on, but decided it would be pointless considering it was practically in shreds. Instead, he wrapped it up and walked over to the fire, tossing it into the flames. He watched for a few moments as the cloth became blackened before breaking away, eventually turning around to walk back to the table where Hermione was packing up the potions and balms she had used into the medical kit.

"So," he said with a rakish grin, drawing her attention away from the kit on the table. "Do I get to give a kiss of thanks?"

Hermione's face blushed even as she let out a scoff. "I think not," she replied.

"Would that be because of Ron?" Regulus asked, trying to keep his voice light even as he felt his stomach dropping in disappointment. He knew that while it was entirely possible that she could have little interest in him that way, having known him for such a small amount of time, Regulus didn't particularly care to think of her with another man.

"Ron?" Hermione replied, her expression changing into one of confusion. "Why would you get that impression?"

He noticed that she didn't outright deny the possibility and could feel his gut tighten with jealousy. "He watches you," Regulus sneered. "His eyes were on you the entire time we were at Diagon Alley. I saw the look he gave you when you followed me. And though you might not have noticed it, he made certain to keep his duels close to us, constantly hovering around the edge."

"He's a friend," Hermione explained. Regulus took a step closer, his eyebrow raised in challenge as he drew neared to her. "A dear friend," she amended, her eyes focused solely on his face, "but just a friend."

"_He_ might want to be just a friend," Regulus replied, his hands coming up to place themselves on her waist as he leaned down so his mouth was near her ear. "But _I_ don't want to be 'just a friend.'"

Turning his head, his mouth managed to capture her lips. She responded immediately, slightly surprising him with the way that she deepened the kiss, her hands coming up to roam over the bare skin of his back. With a moan, his lips parted further, his tongue seeking and gaining entrance, savoring the sweet taste that was entirely Hermione.

His hands left her waist, one venturing up and under her shirt to cup her silk covered breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple as his other hand threaded its way through her tempting locks. The unruliness of her hair practically begged for his fingers to be buried and he was happily willing to comply, his fingers tightening to pull her mouth closer to his as he continued to explore.

He relished the moan that escaped from her mouth as his fingers continued to tease at her nipple, dipping under the cup of the bra to pull and twist the nub that was fast becoming abused. His other hand was about to leave the temptation of her hair to graze down her side and under the band of her trousers to stroke her clit when the loud bang of the front door interrupted him.

Pulling his head back from Hermione's, he cocked his head when he heard the shrieks from his mother's portrait, yelling some rubbish about heathens, half-bloods, blood-traitors tainting her house. Making a mental note to do some research about undoing sticking charms, although he was somewhat surprised Hermione hadn't already done so, Regulus let out a sigh as he dropped both of his hands and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Impeccable timing," he muttered, sending a silent curse to the visitor.

"Ron and Harry," Hermione supplied, her voice soft. "They're back from the Ministry."

Knowing that he would only have a few minutes at best before the two came upstairs looking for Hermione, Regulus tilted his head again, pressing a soft kiss to Hermione's lips. She returned the kiss briefly before pulling away, her eyes shuttered from her emotions. Regulus looked at her curiously, taking in the sight of the mussed curls of her hair, the plumpness of her lips after having been thoroughly kissed, and her button down shirt slightly askew. He couldn't help but think that she looked like the perfect picture of seduction right then.

"We need to know what other deterrents Voldemort has in place if we're going to retrieve the last Horcrux," Hermione informed him brusquely. Her hands were busy setting her shirt and hair to rights and her eyes steadfastly ignored his.

_It wasn't to be unexpectedy,_ he thought ruefully as he watched her flustered movements with a hint of amusement, _after all, she didn't seem to be the sort of girl who got carried away kissing a man she barely knew._

Deciding that her appearance was once again acceptable, Hermione once again met his gaze, her eyes still shuttered. "We'll meet you here tomorrow morning to go over what plans need to be made."

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Hermione turned around and walked out the door of the library. As he heard her walk down the wooden steps of the staircase, he couldn't help but wonder if he had just made a rather large mistake.


	9. Chapter 8 A Crack in the Kingdom

**Chapter 8**

_In medieval times, the surrender or killing of a king meant the loss of a kingdom to invading armies and most likely lead to a change for the worse for the people of the kingdom._

The small boat they had managed to procure bounced up and down on the salty sea waves, the five bodies rocking along inside of it.

_At least the sun was shining,_ Hermione thought, looking around at her four companions. Silence had reined the entire trip and Regulus seemed to be the only one who could find comfort in it. Harry and Ron had kept giving the dark haired man dirty looks and suspicious glares all morning since they had left Grimmauld Place. They were assured in their belief that, even though they had been to the cave two times before, Regulus was leading them to some sort of trap.

Dobby wasn't exactly helping, either, cowering behind Harry and poking his head out enough to add a glare or two of his own at Regulus. Hermione couldn't say that she was surprised that the elf had followed Harry's lead, but she had hoped he would have developed a little more of an independent thought process after working at Hogwarts for so many years.

Meanwhile, Hermione was steadfastly keeping her eyes away from Regulus. She could still remember the press of his body against hers in the library from just over a week ago. A blush rose fto her cheeks as she recalled the feeling of how easy, how natural it had been to go along with his kiss; how she most likely would have kept going along had Ron and Harry not arrived at Grimmauld, effectively interrupting them. And how she wouldn't have much minded going further than just a kiss.

_No, no, no, no,_ she ridiculed herself. _He was a Death Eater._

_**Former**_ Death Eater, her mind corrected her smugly. _One who already had a change of heart before he died. And one whom you find rather attractive._

Hermione let out a small growl of frustration, drawing the startled looks from Harry and Ron, and the smug smile of Regulus, as if he knew exactly where her thoughts had been. Choosing to ignore the Black heir, Hermione offered Harry and Ron a sheepish smile and shrugged, turning away to watch the cave entrance that they were steadily approaching.

Of course, Regulus seemed to have been putting forth a great effort to make sure he was at the forefront of her mind over the course of the past week. Despite her best attempts to steer clear of him, he had managed to always find her; it had started off with simple gestures, such as passing by her close enough in the hallway that their arms would brush, sending a tingle of awareness straight down her spine, but it only managed to progress from there. She was certain that Harry and Ron had to have seen some of the teasing touches he gave her when they were all holed up in the library researching but neither man had said anything.

To be quite honest, she was surprised neither of them had choked on the tension that had started to build in the room when she and Regulus were both present.

Although, it wasn't as if she had done anything to Regulus' attention, apart from her weak attempt to steadfastly keep her eyes on the books in front of her. It had come to the point that something felt off if she was at the library table reading one of the heavy tomes and didn't have Regulus' hand on her knees, drawing nonsensical patterns.

This whole resisting him thing was a lost cause and she knew it.

The boat drifted into the cave and pushed up on the land. Ron and Harry climbed out first, both of them making sounds of disgust as their feet immediately sunk into the sand. Harry leaned back in to pick up Dobby, carrying him further up the shore before setting him down on the grass.

Regulus walked to the front of the boat, jumping far enough out that he made it to the dryer part before turning back to offer Hermione his hand. Standing up in the boat, she gave him a weighing look before jumping out of the boat also, completely ignoring his proffered help.

Not bothering to turn around, she used her wand to summon the bag of supplies that Regulus suggested they bring, catching the strap in her hand and slinging it over her shoulder. Fortunately, she didn't see the smug look Ron gave Regulus as she started to walk away; if she had, it was quite likely she would have had something to say about it.

The cave grew darker as their small group ventured further in and the Lumos on her wand was starting to fail at producing enough light for the group to see. Before she could think of another lighting spell to cast, Regulus pulled out his wand and a glowing ball of light emerged, soaring high above them. Even though the cave was now well lit, it did nothing to erase the ominous feeling Hermione had building in her stomach; she didn't know if it was a result of the dark and dank surroundings, or from knowing what laid in store for them behind the wards, but it was a feeling she couldn't shake.

She jumped when she felt someone's hand land on her shoulder and turned to see Regulus standing beside her with a warm smile. _Strange how just his presence helped to settle her nerves, _she mused.

"This will work," he said reassuringly, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze. "I know it will."

Hermione smiled back at him, not as confident as he was, and he gave her shoulder one last squeeze before walking ahead.

"What was that about?" Harry asked suspiciously. He had come up from behind her as she watched Regulus walk away. Hermione belatedly realized that she had been blatantly watching his arse as he got further and further away. Thankfully the cave was still dim enough that he couldn't see the telltale colour of embarrassment splashed across her cheeks.

"Nothing," she replied to Harry before tipping her head in the direction Regulus had gone. "Shall we press on?"

Her friend gave her a suspicious look, knowing there was something she wasn't telling him, but nodded nonetheless, holding out his hand to indicate that she should lead the way.

Soon the four of them were standing in front of the wards, shoulder to shoulder, as the glowing orb hovered overhead. Setting down the bag on the soft grass, Hermione opened the satchel to dig out the knife she had used for the ritual and handed it to Regulus.

"The moment of truth," she said, her smile not reaching her eyes.

Regulus didn't look down at the knife as he grasped the handle from Hermione's hand, instead studying the wards, a look of confusion on his face.

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked, the ball of dread growing more in her stomach.

"Yes," he replied hesitantly. "It's just," he floundered and looked at Hermione. "I don't remember the specifics of the wards from the last time I was here-"

"When you let Voldemort kill you," Harry supplied with a hint of venom. Hermione shot him a look, hoping he would get the hint to shut up. She knew he still carried the bitterness that it was Regulus and not Sirius but he failed to understand that, despite his feelings, they needed Regulus' help.

Regulus gave Harry a sour look. "Yes, Potter, when he killed me. Great display of deductive reasoning skills on your part."

"Can we get on with this?" Ron interrupted, sending an apologetic look to Harry. "It's bloody creepy and I don't particularly care to be hanging around with a bunch of dead people on the other side of these wards."

"One would think you were squeamish, Weasley," Regulus commented. Hermione noticed that he ignored Ron's derisive scoff, instead looking down at the knife in his hand, turning it over and over in his hand. He looked up at Hermione, an intense stare on his face. "Where did you get this?"

"At Grimmauld," she replied, taken aback and confused. "Why?"

Regulus held the knife out to her, the blade glinting in the light off of the orb. "This was made by Goblins," he said, turning the knife over and over as the other three leaned in to look.

"And?" Ron prompted, looking up from the blade to Regulus.

"It means that any liquid it touches is then embedded in the blade," Hermione said absent-mindedly, silently cursing herself for forgetting that particular tidbit when she had used the blade for the ritual. There was nothing in her blood that would affect the magical properties of the blade; if anything the magic in her blood would enhance it, but it had been a grave oversight on her part to not consider what might have been embedded in the blade previously.

"Like the sword of Gryffindor that we use to destroy the Horcrux," Harry supplied. "Because it's imbued with basilisk venom and venom destroys the Horcrux, we were able to use the sword instead."

"This was the knife that Voldemort gave me to slice my palm for the wards," Regulus informed them.

"I used that knife for the ritual," Hermione said softly, her mind running through the different possibilities, trying to decide how much of a factor that might have been in bringing Regulus back rather than Sirius.

"Would that change who was summoned?" Harry asked. Hermione wasn't surprised to find that his thoughts were almost completely in line with hers.

"I don't think so," she replied slowly, studying the blade intently. She looked up at Harry and gave him an apologetic smile before confessing. "But I'm afraid that my knowledge in that field isn't vast enough to give you a definitive answer. The most I can conclusively say is that, with Regulus' blood in there, it would have helped to focus on the Black family."

Harry nodded, disappointed, and took a step back from the group, avoiding looking at Regulus. Ron shrugged his shoulders, relatively unaffected by the revelation of information, and also took a step back, moving to stand next to Harry in silent support.

"You said Voldemort had you put your blood on the wards," Hermione said, her mind still processing a thought that had occurred to her earlier. She looked to see Regulus nodding, a look of curiosity on his face. "Remember how we were talking about how you had to be anchored in order to be retrieved from the Veil?" she asked excitedly, barely waiting for Regulus to nod again before continuing. "I think that even if he hadn't made you an Inferi, you might have become a ghost."

"What?" Harry asked, surprise on his face. "How would blood on wards manage that?"

"Think about it," she rushed forward, her excitement speeding up her words as she glanced from confused face to confused face. "Becoming a ghost isn't just about not wanting to go into the next world. There are a great many people who don't want to die when they're killed so there has to be some other reason why a part of their soul stays anchored. This might be one of the reasons."

"Sounds like someone found another research project," Ron muttered to Harry, giving Hermione a teasing look that had Regulus scowling.

"Shall we get on with this or did you want to stand around a little while longer?" he sneered.

Without waiting for a response, he took the knife in his hand and, much like she imagined he did all those years ago, sliced it fast across his palm. He handed the knife back to Hermione who whispered a Cleansing Charm before placing it back in the bag.

They all watched as Regulus held his hand up to the wards, directly over the faint shimmer of the Black family crest, and smeared his blood across it. The wards dropped silently, the faint glimmer of their presence dissolving into nothing. Hermione let out the breath that she didn't realize she had been holding and looked at Regulus with a stunned expression.

"What?" he asked. He pulled out his wand to cast a healing spell and Hermione noted that the skin didn't completely mend. It was something she would have to make sure to tend to later when they got back. "What'd you think of?"

"He's bloody brilliant," she breathed. The rare curse word escaping from her lips drew the surprised looks of Harry and Ron while Regulus continued to look at her, waiting for further explanation. "Sorry," she apologized, mistaking their looks for outrage over her complimenting the mind of Voldemort. "But he really is bloody brilliant."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"He spelled the wards to only respond to Regulus," Hermione explained, waiting for the realization to dawn on their faces. But when she only received blank looks in response, she impatiently repeated herself. "He spelled the wards to only respond to Regulus!"

"But, we already knew that," Ron said, slightly impatient.

"We _thought_ we might need the blood of a Black, we didn't know we would need any particular one for certain," Hermione explained. All three men still gave her a blank expression, making her huff in exasperation. "Don't you see? He made Regulus an Inferi; the one person who could take down the wards, the key in this instance, was placed behind a lock that only he could open!"

"And as an Inferi that Voldemort made," Regulus said, putting the pieces together. "Only he would be able to command my actions."

"Exactly!" Hermione nodded.

"But," Harry interrupted. "He would have been a spirit like he was before he did the ritual to get this body. How would he have been able to get his Horcrux?"

"Right," Hermione agreed, "but remember how he was able to talk and interact with you while possessing Quirrell? He would have done something similar to command Regulus to drop the wards."

"Bloody brilliant," Regulus agreed ruefully. He must have seen the ecstatic look on Hermione's face, though. "Don't get too excited," he warned her. "We still have the hard part coming up."

Hermione could feel her enthusiasm over a new discovery deflate and the dread she had been feeling up to this point quickly replace it. With a sigh and a nod, knowing he had a valid point, she once again picked up the bag and slung it over her shoulder before joining Regulus as he started to walk.

"Fire deters them, right?" Ron confirmed, referring to the Inferi. Hermione could hear the tinge of worry in his voice and felt a surge of sympathy for her friend; even after all they had been through and all they had seen, there were still terrors that could strike fear into them. She turned around and gaver her friend a reassuring nod before their small group continued forward into the cave.

"But they shouldn't attack until we have the Horcrux," Regulus reminded them. He earned a grateful look from Hermione over the fact that he was trying to reassure her friends, even though she knew that he didn't particularly care for them. "At least, _ideally,_ they won't attack."

The walk into the cave was longer than Hermione thought and she couldn't help but think how terrible it must have been for Regulus to have to walk through this ominous cave with only Voldemort and Kreacher for his companions.

Finally they made it to the shore, the glowing orb high up in the cave to help shed light on the lake. Hermione stepped forward to investigate but was stopped by Regulus' hand around her wrist.

"I'm not sure that's a sight you want to see," he told her softly. "I know that it's one I'll never forget."

"I need to know," Hermione told him, knowing he would understand. It wasn't about needing to see the horror; she had been witness to more travesties and terrible sights during this war than she cared to remember. But, just like Dumbledore had needed Gindelwald to remind him that there were restrictions to magic, Hermione needed Voldemort to remind her that each spell had a cost.

Regulus nodded and let go of the grip he had on her arm, his thumb stroking lightly at her wrist before he took his hand away completely. With Regulus' feather light touch still leaving a tingling sensation on her skin, Hermione took the three tentative steps forward that were needed for her to peer over the edge and into the lake. The floating faces looked up at her, their eyes open and vacant, unseeing, and their mouths spread wide in horrifying grins. Hermione shuddered in revulsion, unable to look away from the faces.

Suddenly a hand clamped down on her arm, causing her to shriek and jump. She lost her footing, falling backwards, and she started to slide into the lake, the toes of her trainers bumping against one of the heads.

"I got you, I got you," Regulus assured her over and over, tightening his grip to pull her back up. She immediately rolled over into a sitting position, her eyes wide as she stared out at the lake. Regulus crouched down beside her, a worried expression on his face.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" he asked gently. She turned to look at him, seeing the worry in his eyes as she nodded. Narrowing her eyes, she balled up her fist and cuffing him hard on the shoulder. "Oi!" he cried. His hand came up to rub at his shoulder as he glared down at her. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Don't scare me like that," she told him, slowly getting back to her feet. "Stubborn prat."

Regulus gave her a wide grin. "I'm becoming rather fond of the pet name you have for me, princess."

Hermione couldn't help her own smile and was about to retort when Harry spoke up.

"Could we get this done?" he asked, shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

Regulus turned to look back at Harry, Ron and Dobby, an annoyed look on his face. "In a minute, Potter! Man has the worst bloody timing in the world," he muttered to Hermione as he turned back to face her, giving her a rakish grin. "Going to wish me luck, princess?"

"Don't do anything foolish," she told him, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm afraid to admit that I'm becoming rather fond of having you around." Pressing one last kiss to his lips, she handed him the bag and watched him crawl into the small boat with Dobby.

"What was that about?" Harry asked, coming up to stand on her left side. She could feel Ron on her left side, all three of them watching as Regulus and Dobby rowed across the lake to the small island.

"Don't ask questions when you really don't want to know the answers," she informed them, a small smile curving her lips. She could see Ron lean behind her to give Harry a look before turning to Hermione, shrugging.

"Fair enough."

Hermione let out a small snort of amusement, but it wasn't enough of a distraction to help her ignore the worry that was starting to fill her. Regulus had told them about the potion that Voldemort had placed in the bowl, how he had purposely kept an extra vial to show Regulus the effect that it would have on a person, sacrificing one of the Inferi in front of the disloyal Death Eater. His face had become pale and his voice brusque as he told them, hurrying through the details but nobody stopped him to ask questions. Everyone had just wanted the story to end.

Regulus knew that Voldemort had Kreacher put extra enchantments on the bowl, but unfortunately the house-elf had performed the Charms once he was on the island, leaving Regulus clueless as to what magic had been placed on the bowl. Naturally, they would have gone to Kreacher to ask him about the magic but unfortunately the house-elf had passed away the previous year, leaving them blind.

Harry had suggested they ask Dobby for help and the elf had enthusiastically agreed. They hoped that just like they had been able to read the magic in the wards, Dobby would be able to read the elf magic on the bowl and hopefully lift the Charms. And in the worst case scenario, Regulus had instructed Harry to command the elf to pour the liquid down the wizard's throat, making sure to grab the locket to bring back to Potter.

Hermione had rallied against the worst case scenario option but, with no research to help provide another solution and time being of the essence, she had been outnumbered. Regulus had been adamant that it would be him to go across with Dobby, having been the one who had allowed Voldemort that opportunity to even place his Horcrux in the cave.

They watched as Dobby and Regulus climbed out of the boat and onto the small island, the trio raising their arms in preparation. If Dobby and Regulus managed to succeed and they were correct about when the Inferi would attack, the two from the island would need as much help as they could get. Years ago, when they had first discussed ways to destroy the Horcruxes, Hermione had rejected the use of Fiendfyre, considering it to be too easy to lose control over; now, however, it was the spell they were all now prepared to unleash on the lake.

"I can't see what they're doing," Ron complained. He was standing on his tip toes on the edge of the lake, craning his head this way and that in a hopeless attempt to see better. Hermione silently agreed with him, wishing that she had brought along her omnioculars or even a pair of Muggle binoculars. An idea popped into her head and, turning to Harry, she placed her wand on his glasses and whispered, _"Occulus Amplifico."_

"Oi!" Harry cried out, blinking his eyes a few times as his glasses became the equivalent of magnifying glasses. "You could have given me a _little_ more of a warning."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh before turning to stare pointedly to where Regulus and Dobby stood on the island, glancing back at Harry with an expectant look.

"Fine, point taken," Harry admitted. Like Hermione, he turned his attention back to the pair on the island, leaning forward enough that Hermione and Ron both immediately grabbed the back of his jumper, not wanting him to slip and fall in like Hermione had almost done earlier.

"Well?" Ron asked impatiently. "What do you see?"

"Dobby has his hands over the bowl and seems to be doing some sort of enchantment on it," Harry told them, trying to take another step closer.

"Will you stop trying to walk into the lake?" Hermione commanded him. She tightened her grip on his jumper and dug the heels of her trainers into the soft grass, knowing that Ron was doing the same.

"Sorry," Harry replied sheepishly. He took a step back, making sure he was on firm ground before turning his attention back to the island. "Regulus has a large goblet that he must have pulled out of the bag and is holding it out. Dobby is picking up the bowl, holding it over the goblet.." Harry trailed off.

"And?" Hermione and Ron both prompted impatiently, giving hard yanks to the jumper.

"It's not working," Harry told them, worry creeping into his voice. "The magic Kreacher put on the bowl must have been darker than what Dobby's familiar with."

"What now?" Ron said, even though they all knew what the next option would be.

"Regulus is going to drink the potion," Hermione whispered, her throat clenching tight. Cursing the enchantments Voldemort had on that thrice blasted boat, she desperately searched her mind for possibilities to get over to the island. The Inferi had stirred when her foot had slipped into the water but had gone back to their restful state as soon as she was out of the water. Partaking in another trip into that water wasn't exactly something she cared to chance.

"He's drinking it," Harry told them. Hermione turned away from the lake, burying the side of her face into the shoulder of Harry's jumper; even though she couldn't see the pair very well, she didn't want to look, didn't want to have to stand by and watch as he literally poured poison down his throat.

They had tried to plan for this scenario; Regulus remembered the color of the potion which had helped to narrow it down some but with Severus Snape as the wizard who had most likely brewed the lethal liquid, the chances of the potion being in any standard Potions' text was significantly decreased. Regardless of that fact, the four of them had gathered a few of the antidotes that covered a wide range of poisons, including Harry's trusty bezoar stone, hoping that one of them would be enough to counteract the potion.

Regulus' screams broke through the tense stillness of the air, the pain of his voice shooting straight through Hermione and making her heart clench. She tightened her grip on Harry's jumper even as Regulus started to beg, pleading with Dobby to "stop, no more, please!"

"Please, Harry Potter, please don't make me do this," she could hear Dobby plead pitifully, his small voice barely breaking through Regulus' screams. Hermione could feel the tears start to form in her eyes as she forced herself to look out across the lake, her gaze fixed on the crumpled form.

"You have to keep going, Dobby," Harry ordered him, his voice breaking on the house-elf's name. Hermione could feel Ron's hand clamp around his friend's shoulder, knowing as much as Hermione did that it was hard for him to force Dobby to do something this horrible. Harry's fists curled at his sides, the only visible sign of his frustration over the fact that he was forced to stand off to the side, a frustration Hermione shared.

Releasing the tight grip of his fist, Harry looked at Hermione, seeing the distress on her face, and placed his hand on her back. She was grateful for Harry's attempt to comfort her, knowing that despite the fact that she was one of his closest friends, it hadn't been easy for him to offer her reassurances over a man that he held such resentment towards.

"He's almost done, Hermione," Harry told her quietly, his gaze focused on Dobby. Regulus' agonizing cries quieted down to weak whimpers, ones that managed to cut her deeper than his screams had.

_Don't give up,_ she mentally pleaded with him. _You're almost there, don't give up._

"The bowl is empty," Harry told her, his tone taking on a clinical air in an attempt to distance himself from the events. Resentment started to build in Hermione, wondering how, out of all the incidents Harry had been through over the years, this could be the one that he was able to actually distance himself from.

"Do you hear that?" Ron asked quietly, leaning closer to the lake. Hermione let go of her grip on Harry's jumper and moved closer, tilting her head. She hadn't noticed it at first, but now that Ron had pointed it out, she could hear the low rumble starting to echo through the cave. It almost sounding like…. _moaning_, she realized, mentally giving herself a smack.

"Get away from the water, Ron!" she commanded, pointing her wand at the lake. The bodies started to pull themselves to the surface, swimming fast to the small island. They were ruthless, crawling over each other, snarling, shoving, and even biting as they fought to get to Regulus and Dobby. Their unearthly battle cries mixed in with the cries of pain, but they continued forward, the shadows of their bodies bouncing off of the walls from the dim light of the glowing orb.

"Take the left," Harry commanded to Hermione before turning to Ron. "Take the right and I'll try to get the ones in the middle."

The trio immediately spurred into action, feet moving fast across the slick grass as they took their places, trying to angle themselves so they could get the Inferi in the front without hurting Regulus or Dobby.

"Get the Horcrux, Dobby!" Harry shouted as golden red flames galloped across the lake. Hermione could barely hear his voice above the shrieks of pain from the Inferi as the flames started to swallow them up, leaving behind bodies that had been blackened to a crisp; bodies that, despite the trauma they had just undergone, were still moving.

"The potions!" Hermione shouted at Dobby as she struggled to keep her Fiendefyre under control, her wand arm wavering. "Get the potions into him now!"

Between the three of them, they managed to clear a path for the small boat to float through, a wall of fire on either side of it. Hermione's jaw clenched each time a hand became daring enough to try to reach through the flames of the fire and she would push the flames of the Fiendefyre closer.

As the boat drew closer, she saw Regulus slumped against the seat, his face pale and his chest slowly rising and falling. Dobby was next to him, the bag spread wide on the bottom of the boat as the tiny elf poured potion after potion down the wizard's throat, all of them having no result on the deteriorating state. The elf became frantic in his movements, tossing the empty bottles to the bottom of the boat while grabbing another, not even waiting to see if the previous one had worked.

Her focus was entirely on Regulus, her eyes staring at his chest, willing it to keep rising and falling with each swish of the magically enchanted oars. She was so focused, in fact, that she didn't see the hand make it through the wall of fire until it managed to grab Dobby and tried to drag him out of the boat.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled as the house-elf struggled against the Inferi, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the cave. Hermione tried to edge the flames closer to the Inferi, but had to back them off when she saw smoke start to rise from the wooden bow of the tiny boat. Harry and Ron did the same, both of them bringing the walls of their Fiendefyre closer to the Inferi, the flames licking at the feet of the creature, but still it clung to Dobby.

The house-elf flailed, his hand managing to grab onto one of the bottles that had broken in the bottom of the boat and, with one quick motion, sliced at the arm that had been holding him hostage. With a howl of pain, the creature let go of Dobby, but still clung on to the side of the boat.

_Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,_ Hermione silently pleaded, trying to will the magic enchanting the boat to move faster. They were already so close, just a few more feet.

Dobby stood on Regulus' chest, jabbing the broken bottle at the Inferi each time he tried to grab into the boat, managing to keep him at bay. But the third time the hand flew into the boat, the Inferi managed to knock the bottle out of Dobby's hand, the tiny glass flying high into the water.

With a twisted cackle of glee, the Inferi once again grabbed into the boat and finally managed to latch onto Regulus' leg. Dobby hopped down from the wizard's chest, hurrying over to beat his tiny fists against the arm of the Inferi as Hermione tried to bring the flames closer to the boat once again, letting them swallow the feet, then the legs of the Inferi.

_Almost there, you're almost there!_

Seconds later, the boat finally bumped against the shore with the Inferi clinging to the side of it. Hermione was still struggling to keep the flames of the Fiendefyre under control, trying to keep the rest of the Inferi back. She could see Harry doing the same, his focus darting back and forth between his own Fiendefyre and Dobby, shouting instructions to the house-elf. Before Hermione could yell at Ron to do something about the Inferi on the boat, she heard him yell, _"Flamma Telum!"_

A shot of fire that almost looked like it was shaped like an arrow flew over Harry and Hermione's heads, landing directly in the middle of the Inferi's back. With an ungodly howl, he arched up, his hands losing their grip on the side of the boat, and fell back into the water. Ron hurried past Hermione and Harry, to help Dobby and then Regulus out of the boat, the wizard landing with a groan to the ground.

Harry nodded to Hermione, gesturing his head towards Regulus. "Help him," he told her, his face showing the strain of the spell. "We need to be able to run."

She waited until Harry's Fiendefyre grew large enough to cover Hermione's before she ended her spell and moved quickly over to Regulus. Remembering the Potion's class of their 6th year and having seen Dobby already pour numerous antidotes down Regulus' throat to no avail, she dug in the bag that had been dropped beside him. Rummaging around in haste as she muttered to herself, she was able to quickly locate what she was looking for and pulled out a large, shrunken, kidney like stone, promptly pushing it under Regulus' tongue.

Ron came up on the other side of Regulus, placing one of the man's arms over his shoulders, gesturing for Hermione to do the same. "We've done what we can for him here, we can do more back at the house," he told her, glancing back at Harry. "C'mon, mate, let's go!"

Without waiting for a response, Hermione and Ron started to drag Regulus along down the grassy hill, leaving Dobby to tug on Harry's jumper, frantically telling him in his high-pitched voice that they had to leave. She could hear Harry send Dobby ahead before cutting his spell loose and let the fire burn without his control. His footsteps quickly caught up to them when they were a few feet from the boat they had come in on, skidding to a stop in the wet grass. Harry looped Dobby up in his arms and put him in the boat before turning back to Ron and Hermione, beckoning them to hurry with his hand.

With one last burst of energy, they made it into the boat, Harry jumping in after them and pushing off from the edge of the shore, back out into the ocean.

"Bloody Apparition wards," Ron grumbled as their boat floated out of the cave and back into the sunlight. "Leave it to You-Know-Who to make things as ruddy difficult as possible."

"You're hardly going to leave a piece of your soul lying around in the middle of Diagon Alley where anyone can take it," Hermione pointed out.

"Did we do it?" Regulus muttered softly, interrupting the potential for conflict. His words were slightly garbled by the bezoar in his mouth and his voice was rough and weak, but it was still strong enough to be heard. His head was on Hermione's lap and his eyes were still closed in weariness as Hermione pushed the hair off of his forehead.

"Yes," she told him before turning to Dobby, speaking gently. "What happened to the locket?"

"Here," Regulus answered, drawing her attention back to him once more. He held up his hand that she hadn't previously noticed was clenched tightly around an object. Slowly opening his fingers, she could see the glimmer of gold bouncing off of the sunlight. He opened his eyes and brought the locket closer to his face to inspect it. As he turned it over and over, his thumb rubbing lightly in spots, Hermione noticed that his brow had furrowed in thought.

"What is it?" she asked. "That _is_ the right locket, isn't it?"

"Yes," Regulus replied, his voice distant. With a heavy sigh, he closed his fingers around it once more and placed the locket deep within the pockets of his robes, closing his eyes. "Yes, it is the right locket."


End file.
